Ring of Blood
by Pharaohess
Summary: (AU; 1 year post-LotR) (IMPORTANT Author Note inside) The Nine are abroad again. Evil has returned to Mordor. Melkor, Sauron's Master, has escaped from the Void. He wants to create a Ring, another Master Ring, to regain his immortality and power: but this time he needs something else: the blood of the Ringbearer who was responsible for Sauron's downfall.
1. An Attack in the Shire

((Re-edited, re-uploaded: November 3rd 2012))

This is my first LotR fic. If, to you, some characters seem OOC, I'm sorry. I'm apologising in advance.

Don't own LotR.

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Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor, was standing on a parapet overlooking Minas Tirith, the jewel of Gondor. The city spread out before him; the white stone shining even in the darkness of night, lit by the soft glowing torches of the city, which cast a gentle illumination over the beginning of the Pellenor Fields before the city's gates. Every now and then Aragorn caught the quiet noises of the city guard's patrol, or a snatch of laughter on the breeze. The city was thriving again –a creature that had once lain dormant for a long time, it was again full of life and bustle.

Aragorn's gaze swept the darkened landscape. The plains of Gondor stretched away to his right, and the last mountains of Ered Nimrais, the mountain range that formed the border between Gondor and Rohan, were on his left. Across from him, the Pellenor Fields stretched to the ruins of Osgiliath. Aragorn could only just, and with great difficulty, see the abandoned city that spanned the river. He was committed to re-building and re-populating the area, but had been working on Minas Tirith in the meantime. Osgiliath was next to be cleansed of Mordor's taint. Beyond the once-proud city of men, the Mountains of Shadow that bordered that evil land rose, intimidating, in the distance.

Aragorn's gaze lingered for a moment on the mountains. Memories of events that had happened a year ago, events that had changed him and his friends forever, filtered into his mind. The battles that seemed hopeless; the unending waves of Orcs and Uruk-Hai snarling a hair's breath from him. Having to watch friends suffer, injured, and the constant worry about two little Hobbits, alone in the dark lands, who could not know how much they were thought of, preyed for. Watching good men die, seeing glory and splendour replaced with sadness and loss of hope. Sometimes, evil memories appeared in nightmare, other times, it was merely reduced to a feeling of unease towards Mordor.

But it was all over now. The Ring had been destroyed – two Hobbits who did what armies could not have achieved – the battles won, injuries healed. Friends who had not survived were mourned. And he had taken his rightful place as King of Gondor.

Aragorn was jerked from his reverie by something that chilled him to the soul. A flash of red lightning, above the Mountains of Shadow. Coming from Mordor. The clouds were so thick it was only seen for the barest instant, a sudden streak of colour in the night sky.

Aragorn stared the mountains, searching for another flash of red. He knew it could only mean one thing – Orodruin, Mount Doom, was active…after a year of lying dormant after its destruction when the Ring was destroyed. But that was not all. The flash of red, seen through the gap in the cloud, had illuminated something else. The edge of a colossal black tower; spiked and evil silhouetted against the flame. Another flash of red confirmed his worst fears.

Aragorn turned hurriedly from the parapet and strode inside, trying to keep calm. He knew he must ride now for Rivendell – and not entrust another soul with this task. Gandalf and Elrond had to be alerted as soon as possible, and he would go. Alone he could travel faster and cover more ground; even if it was 'improper' for a King to do so. He went to wake his wife, and tell her what was happening. Arwen could easily take care of the city while he was on this errand.

Somehow, Barad-Dur was rebuilt.

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Sauron laughed again, his spiked helmet thrown back in glee. Frodo was unable to move – through his own fear or a spell he did not know – as the figure was dragged before him, thrown roughly to the ground. Frodo cried out to his friend, who pushed himself up only to be run through with Sauron's sword. Frodo cried out again, as the blood covered his hands…

Frodo woke, pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. He had often had nightmares, after returning from the Quest. Lately, they were becoming more and more vivid, worse, and, almost, more real. The feeling of unease that accompanied them in waking no longer faded after a few minutes, but persisted through out most of the morning. And he could never go back to sleep after them.

This one had been the worst for a while. Frodo could never remember the nightmares in full detail, often he could only remember part of them if any at all. They all ran along the same theme: Mordor. Each time, he was confronted by Sauron, and each time, someone he knew and cared for was killed in front of him. The person changed – Sam, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas….

This time, it had been Aragorn, cast before him on the rough ground. But this dream had also been the most vivid. He could hear the sounds of the sword being slid out of a scabbard, hear the echoingly nauseating sound of Sauron's laugh, feel Aragorn's blood on his hands; see everything so clearly as he watched his friend die.

_It's gone_. Frodo thought to himself, trying to calm his racing heart and fast breathing. _It was destroyed, Mordor is ruined, and Sauron is gone. It's over._

Feeling a little more in control, Frodo looked out the window. Pale colours were appearing in the sky, heralding the new day - it was dawn. Frodo lay back onto his pillow. As he did, a searing pain shot through his left shoulder – the same place as ever, where he had been stabbed by the Morgul blade on Weathertop. He cursed in pain, gritting his teeth against it so as not to cry out.

There was a knock on the door a moment later, and Sam appeared, looking slightly worried. "Are you all right?"

Frodo shook his head, a hand pressed over his burning scar, as his friend came over. "It's the Morgul wound," he sighed through gritted teeth. "It's worse than...ever before."

Sam's face grew more worried. Gently, he reached around Frodo's neck and drew out the Evenstar from under his friend's nightshirt. "Take it. Remember what Lady Arwen said."

Nodding, Frodo grasped the pendant. Almost immediately, the pain lessened, and his breathing eased. Feeling the cool metal and diamonds between his fingers, Frodo closed his eyes. "I remember. 'When the memory of the fear and darkness troubles you, this will bring you aid,' is what she said." The worst of the pain passed, and Frodo opened his eyes, looking at Sam. "But there's one thing I don't understand," he said. "It's mid March. I fell ill on the thirteenth, from Shelob's sting, but that has nothing to do with my shoulder wound…why is it acting up now?"

Sam shrugged. He had never been sure about any of these 'magical' and 'cursed' wounds. They were too complicated for him. "Well, if you're that concerned, Mr. Frodo, we can talk about it later today with Master Merry and Master Pippin. They're coming to visit, remember?"

Frodo nodded, the last of the pain ebbing away. "That's true. I can't help but think something's wrong."

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Merry frowned as he listened to Frodo's story of what had happened in the early hours of that morning. "I don't know. Nothings been out of place; I mean, there have been no strangers in the Shire like last time, or anything hinting to it. Not that I've heard." He idly scratched the back of his neck. "I could double check with the gate staff to be sure."

The four of them were walking across some fields not far from Bag End. The day was clear and warm, by all rights it was a perfect day. Yet the faces of the four Hobbits were serious, as they considered matters far beyond their own lands – something that had made their kin even more wary of them, the four 'Travellers' who were involved too much in things that didn't concern Hobbits.

"What about Gandalf?" asked Pippin. "Have you heard from him?"

Frodo considered this. "No, and that's a good point. Gandalf would surely tell us if anything was wrong."

Frodo had been mulling away on what this could mean all day. He couldn't think why it might be hurting now, there was no reason for it to. The date was wrong, the Nazgul were destroyed – all his usual triggers were unaccountable.

"Anyway, Aragorn's King of Gondor. He'd stop Mordor," stated Pippin, drawing himself up proudly and tapping his Gondorian gauntlet. Merry rolled his eyes, pointing at his own Rohirric gauntlet in challenge. Pippin turned back to Frodo, serious again. "And, he'd probably be the first to know – Mordor is straight across from Minas Tirith."

"There's another point, Frodo. Don't go getting worried if nothing's happening." Merry smiled at his elder cousin.

Frodo smiled back, though it faded. It was difficult to explain how much this worried him – he knew the wound well by now, and this was definitely out of the ordinary. "It still doesn't answer the question of why my shoulder was hurting."

Pippin shrugged, kicking at a flower. "Maybe your would was just hurting?"

"Maybe. But I think..."

"Think what?" Pippin interrupted, knowing Frodo's habit of verbally dancing around the point.

Frodo shrugged. "It might sound worrisome, but I think it's linked. To what, I don't know, but every time…." Frodo stopped speaking with a sharp intake of breath, pressing a hand to his shoulder.

"Again?" asked Sam gently.

Frodo nodded, slowly breathing out. "Not as bad as before." He was about to reach for the Evenstar, when the pain vanished. He took his hand away from his shoulder. "That's odd. It's stopped hurting. Just…suddenly. It's never done that before." Frodo shrugged. "I wonder what's wrong, if anything?"

In the moment of silence that followed Frodo's question, there was a sound from far-off. A sound straight from nightmares and shadow, that chilled all four Hobbits to the bone and they all looked at one another, fearful and worried.

"I don't believe it," Pippin whispered.

"Believe it!" said Sam, searching the skies. "There's only one creature who makes a noise like that! Run!"

He pointed behind them, where a black shape on the horizon was growing larger with each passing moment. The Hobbits ran for the safety of Bag End, back the way they had come.

Merry tripped over a lose stone. Frodo ran back to help him, realising that the Nazgul was so close he could almost see it in perfect detail. The hands – or what were akin to hands – gloved in sharp metal, the black cowl that surrounded darkness, the gleam of a sword-hilt. He pulled Merry up and ran beside him. They were within a hundred meters of Bag End when the Nazgul's steed swooped down and grabbed Frodo in its claws.

"Frodo!" yelled Merry. He whistled shrilly as the Fell Beast began to turn. "Sam! Pippin!"

Sam appeared beside him, holding Sting. "Frodo! _Catch!_"

He threw the sword, in its scabbard toward the slowly rising Nazgul. Frodo twisted in its claw and caught Sting, drawing the blade in.

"By Elbereth, _let me go_!"

Sting bit deep into the Fell Beast's leg, and black blood spilled onto the elven blade. The creature shrieked and let Frodo go. Frodo dropped from the claws, landed heavily on a haystack, and promptly rolled off, winding himself. Dazed, he struggled to his feet as the Nazgul screeched and swooped again, but a shaft of white light made it wheel away, back to the East, the way it had come. Frodo leaned against the haystack, his head spinning.

"Frodo! Frodo!"

Frodo could hear the sound of people coming acorss the grass in his direction. Dizzy, due to lack of breath, he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was slightly blurred, but he could make out shapes coming towards him.

Sam was the first to reach Frodo. "Frodo! Are you ok?"

"Yes, I think. Just a little dizzy, and a little sore." He rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, reassuring his friend who was justifiably worried.

Merry and Pippin arrived almost after Sam. "What did you do?"

"Slashed its leg. Sting cut deep, and it let me go. I dropped Sting when I fell."

"It's here," another voice said. Frodo looked up to see Aragorn holding Sting, hilt first, towards him. Frodo reached out and took the sword from him, noting the sticky black blood on the blade and wiping it off on the nearby haystack. "Thank you, Sire."

Aragorn sighed at his Hobbit friend. "Do not call me that! None of you need to."

"And here is the scabbard, Frodo," said Faramir, who had come up on the other side of Frodo. Frodo took it gratefully and carefully slid the now-clean blade back inside. "Thank you, Faramir. But…what are you doing here?"

Aragorn and Faramir exchanged a glance. Frodo sighed inwardly – such a glance could not mean anything positive.

"I think it best if we go inside. Gandalf and Legolas are waiting."

Frodo blinked. "Gandalf's with you?" Something surfaced form his memory. "Of course, the white light. That was him, wasn't it?"

Aragorn nodded. "It was. He and Legolas await us, there is much to discuss." He watched as Frodo gently pushed himself off the haystack. "You are fit to walk, Master Baggins?"

Frodo smiled at him. "I'm fine, thank you, _Sire_."

Together the six walked across the last stretch of filed to Bag End. When they entered, Gandalf and Legolas were waiting for them. Gandalf look as at home as ever leaning on the mantle, but Frodo couldn't help but be the smallest bit amused by Legolas's height making him a far more awkward guest as he leaned against a clear patch of wall. Frodo's amusement faded when he noticed how serious they both looked.

Gandalf smiled broadly when they entered. "Frodo my lad, you're alright. That was some quick thinking of you," he said as he knelt down and momentarily embraced his small friend.

"It was Sam, really. He had the idea to get Sting."

Gandalf turned to Sam, who looked sheepish. "Then thank you Samwise, for some quick thinking when a friend was in danger." Sam muttered something in reply as Gandalf stoof straight and surveyed them all. He sighed heavily.

"You all need to come to Rivendell."

"To Rivendell? Why?" Asked Pippin.

"Because evil is again in Mordor." He sighed again. "I wish I was here on a better errand. But things are in motion and we must answer them. You four are heroes of the War of the Ring; and you represent the Halflings, and so are required for the Council. But furthermore, we think we know what is happening and it concerns you all personally."

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Okay, there's the first chapter. Read and review, please!

((Re-edited, re-uploaded: November 3rd 2012))


	2. Good Thoughts in the Firelight

((Re-edited, re-uploaded: November 8th 2012))

((I'm really enjoying this re-editing process. I didn't know how far I'd come as a writer (just in my own opinion) until I did this – going back and really breaking things down. It's really cool to do – if you've got an unfinished story, then I urge you to do the same!))

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There was little time to waste. Agreeing to meet the others at the Brandywine Bridge, Pippin and Merry left Bag End, riding with Gandalf and Legolas, to gather their own possessions for travel from Tookland and Buckland respectively. They rode off in a flash of dust down the hill, leaving numerous puzzled Hobbits peeking over hedges and through gates.

Frodo and Sam gathered their own belongings: elven cloaks were carefully extracted from the coatrack; Sam's sword was picked up from its hallway hook, where it habitually hung beside Sting. In the privacy of his bedroom, Frodo carefully extracted the Phial of Galadrial from it's keeping-place, placing the elven talisman safely into his pack.

Frodo also retrieved his Mithril shirt, slipping it on quickly beneath his clothing. Its familiar feel, which he had grown so accustomed to on the quest to Mordor, was strange for a moment. He briefly entertained the notion of how many times it had saved his life, and how many more times it might have to prove its worth; but banished the thought.

As he made to leave his bedroom, he caught sight of himself in the looking glass. Elven cloak, elven jewel around his neck, elven dagger at his side…but just a Hobbit. He smiled sadly at himself in the mirror. Not really a hero, no matter what others may say. Just a Hobbit who went to the darkest of lands and returned changed, weary, and wounded.

On his return to the front hallway, to where Faramir and Aragorn were amusing themselves with the scale of Hobbit-sized items, Frodo passed the study. Inside Sam was sitting with Rosie, talking quietly with her. Rosie had been one of the first Hobbits to learn of what the 'Travellers' had done, and perhaps the only one who had been told every details and truly understood it. Her love for Sam had helped her overcome the typical disinterest and fear with which most Hobbits viewed the world outside the Shire, and she was now eager to journey for herself sometime, not far, and not in dangerous circumstances, to see some of the places – like Rivendell – that her husband spoke about with such passion.

Frodo tapped the hilt of Sting idly as he walked. He couldn't deny there was a nice weight to having a sword at his side again; although it did symbolise the threat of combat, which he wasn't keen on. Throughout the War of the Ring, Frodo had never taken the life of another – not even an orc. He had defended himself when the time arose, of course, but had never struck a killing blow. Still, the sword spoke of adventure, of distant lands, and Frodo was honoured to wear it. He had tried to gift it to Sam, especially as Sam had used it more, but Sam wouldn't hear of it.

Sam and Rosie emerged from the study. Sam introduced her to Aragorn (she looked taken aback to be introduced to a king in such casual circumstances) and Faramir, and she wished the four of them safe passage. As the men went to ready the horses, Rosie wished Frodo and Sam well personally. She knew, and was one of the few who did, the extent of Frodo's changed life after the Ring's influence and his injuries, and could guess at the seriousness of the situation.

"Don't worry," Frodo whispered to her as she embraced him, "I'll look after Sam."

"I know," she replied softly. They parted, and Frodo stepped outside, giving husband and wife a final moment alone.

Rosie waved to them as they rounded the bend and were lost from sight. Catching a glimpse of Sam's pained face, Frodo sighed inwardly. He knew Sam was considering the chance he might not return, or what he might have to face before returning home. His farewell to Rosie was sure to have been emotional – and worse still, there were very few hobbits in the Shire she could confide in, or even simply talk to about how she was feeling.

_Poor Rosie_, Frodo thought as the road beneath him passed in a blur as he sat astride Brego with Aragorn. _I cannot even make the promise that Sam will return alive to you. But I will swear to do everything within my power to make it so_.

oooooooooooooooooo

They didn't have long to wait at the Brandywine Bridge before Gandalf and Legolas appeared bearing Merry and Pippin on their horses. Frodo saw that just as he and Sam had retrieved their swords and Elven cloaks; Merry and Pippin had done the same – and gone the step further of changing into their garments from Rohan and Gondor respectively.

Frodo felt a thrill of pride for his cousins; tinged only a little with sadness from the memory of the circumstances that required them to wear such garb. Hobbits in armour were a thing of myth in the Shire, and Merry and Pippin looked like knights from the old tales. Being astride elegant horses and accompanied by an elf and a wizard only served to enhance the regal feeling.

The eight travellers did not tarry. As soon as they were reunited, they were off again, spurring their horses eastward along the road from the Shire, riding swiftly.

"It will take three days to get to Weathertop on horseback." Gandalf called back to his fellow travellers, as Shadowfax set a blinding pace. It almost felt like flying – Frodo could have been easily convinced that Brego's hooves were not actually touching the ground as he rode with Aragorn.

"Why are we going there?" Frodo called back over the rushing air. Although he was interested in the history of it, time had taken Amon Sul's beauty and the Nazgul had removed any sense of peace from the place. Frodo had hoped never to see it again; after what had happened there.

"To meet the eagles. They will take us the rest of the way to Rivendell."

_Meet the eagles_. Frodo turned the phrase over in his mind. If they were to meet the eagles to cut the journey's length, then surely whatever was happening was of such importance they really did not have any time to waste. This more than anything sent a chill through Frodo's blood – even with the Ring there had been time to walk to Rivendell, a hard-going but normal journey on foot. A shortcut – and one of such magnitude, if the eagles were to be helping; Frodo knew from Bilbo's stories more than anything the pride of the eagles – then there was far more to this situation than met the eye.

The rest of the day passed in silence. The rushing of the wind, from the speed of their travel, did little to enable proper conversation, and Frodo could guess that his companions were deep in thought. Each was more than likely to be involved in what could be happening in Mordor; what could happen to Middle-Earth; and those they had left behind. Everyone had his own nightmarish memories of the War. With the threat of Mordor growing again, there was little that could prevent those memories from coming back.

_What if?_ was Frodo's main thought. _The Nazgul have returned, there must be a power controlling them. Could it be Sauron himself, somehow?_ For a moment he considered the two kingdoms closest to Mordor. _Rohan and Gondor are not yet recovered form the war. Many men were lost in defence of the free world. What if there is no last alliance this time? Could the darkness of Mordor spread across the world, defeating a weakened enemy? _

_Could it become as if the Ring had never been destroyed?_

When the companions finally stopped for the night, sheltering on the edge of a small forest, the mood of the group was somewhat subdued – even Pippin, who could talk for hours and still say nothing, wasn't talkative. It was Gandalf who first spoke, once their camp was set and the fire was lit.

"To speak of this in the open is dangerous, but we have no other choice. Has anything happened, to any of you or in the Shire, that has been out of the ordinary as of late? Any dark tidings may be connected to the east."

"There has been no word from those on watch in Tookland," Pippin said softly, "Not that I have heard."

"Nor has there been anything from those who keep an eye on the Buckland border," Merry added, "or any strange signs from the Old Forest."

Frodo hesitated before speaking, unsure if his answer to Gandalf's question was an over-reaction, or worth providing. Surely he had had enough experience with the darkness in the east to feel comfortable speaking his mind? Even if it was only coincidence? But Frodo didn't think so. "As all of you would understand, my nights are not entirely peaceful. I am often visited by dark visions and distorted memories. They all are constructed around the same core images: I am confronted by Sauron, and someone I know and care for is killed before me. I was woken by one such nightmare just before dawn – as of late they have been becoming more real, more vivid. This time, I could feel the blood on my hands; hear the call of the Wraiths, like I have never been able to before. I don't know if it is important."

Gandalf studied him for a moment. "I think it may be, Frodo, more than you know."

"Your shoulder hurt too; didn't it?" Sam interjected, watching his friend.

Frodo nodded. "Yes, after the dream. Though I do not think the visions caused the pain; as it seemed to come after, very separately. I thought it strange – it being mid-March, rather than the October anniversary. Yet the appearance of the Nazgul, I suppose, explains it."

Sam sighed. "What _is_ going on?"

"It will all be explained at Rivendell, if our luck holds" said Aragorn, saving Gandalf from answering. "There is another council summoned, as this will threaten the free people once more. All important figures will be there: Eomer is riding from Rohan, and Thranduil from Mirkwood, to name but a few."

"Thranduil is my father," said Legolas, a shadow of a smile appearing on his face. "King of the Mirkwood Elves."

"Would that be the same Elven King who was responsible for the incarceration of a certain group of dwarves on their way to a certain Lonely Mountain?" asked Pippin, his eyes sparkling cheekily in the firelight.

Legolas raised an eyebrow, and laughed. "The very same. He is more friendly towards the dwarves, now. I wasn't very interested, I admit freely, when I heard my father had caught some trespassers and imprisoned them in the dungeons. I was moreso amused when I heard they had escaped – and how."

Faramir leaned forward. "I think this is a tale I have not heard."

For a moment, all darkness, all thoughts of destruction, were abolished from the circle of firelight as the four hobbits jointly told Faramir a brief but still amusing version of Bilbo's unexpected journey with the dwarven party. Gandalf, for his part, filled in what details he could remember, and Legolas provided a wider perspective once the tale reached his own kingdom.

"Mirkwood…."mused Merry. "And those spiders! The dwarves are all bound in web, and Bilbo the only one who can aid them. What did Bilbo sing to distract them, Frodo? You ought to know."

"_Lazy Lob and crazy Cob_

_are weaving webs to wind me._

_I am far more sweet than other meat,_

_but still they cannot find me!_

_Here I am, naughty little fly;_

_you are fat and lazy._

_You cannot trap me, though you try,_

_in you cobwebs crazy_," sang Frodo, remembering Bilbo's tale. "That was it, I think. By his telling it drove them mad trying to find him."

The companions fell silent once more, no more thinking on Sauron and the impending darkness for the moment. Instead, their thoughts were of songs and tales, and old memories, memories before the Ring. The lightheartedness of Bilbo's tale had reminded them that while darkness was on the horizon, it was not here yet, and to act as if it was was to throw away what last precious moments they may have away from its shadow.

A low voice started to sing, rising and falling in gentle melodic intonations.

"_Minas Tirith, the White City tall_

_Jewel of Gondor, never to fall_

_Towers high, and every spire,_

_Gleaming like a burnished fire_

_Trumpets call from the White Tower_

_The White Tree always in white flower_

_King on throne, flag held high_

_Black against the summer sky_

_Stars and Stones, the White Tree_

_Between the mountains and the sea_

_The Guarded City of Gondor, _

_Destined to stand for evermore._"

Faramir stopped singing, his clear voice trailing off in the firelight. "And now, a king we have indeed!"

"I have not heard it before. And I lived in Minas Tirith, so to speak," said Pippin, watching Faramir closely.

Faramir shook his head, smiling at days passed. "It is an old rhyme; one learnt in my childhood. Most children of the city know it; but it is not one of our 'great' songs. It came back to me just now."

"I like it," Frodo said quietly with a smile. "It speaks of pride without arrogance; and is neither sad nor happy – but it rings with certainty."

_This is what I always thought an adventure would be like_, Frodo thought to himself, casting a glance around the fire. _Good companions, good conversation, sleeping out under the stars with no expectations or duties but those we impose upon ourselves. Yet the great stories never truly explain the threat of darkness…it is mentioned, of course, but never in such a way that it feels like it could bring a chance of failure for the heroes. I wonder, will song ever capture the darkness of the War of the Ring? Or will it be understated, to encourage the 'happy' ending?_

Frodo lay back as Legolas began to sing in elvish. Even without his knowledge of the language, the tune and tone would have been enough to enjoy it. The words were flowing like water, shining like jewels as they entwined with the notes of the melody. They encouraged visions, of Lothlorien, of Rivendell, of tranquillity and peace. Frodo slipped into dreams, still listening to Legolas.

"_A Elbereth Glithonel_

_Silivren penna miriel_

_O menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-diriel_

_O galadhremmin ennorath_

Fanuilos, le linnathon

_Nef aear, si nef aearon…_"

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So…the Spider song is from the _Hobbit_ (Bilbo taunting the spiders in Mirkwood), and the Elven one is sung in Rivendell in _Fellowship of the Ring_. But Faramir's Gondorian song was written by me, just randomly. So if you don't like it, you won't be offending Tolkien or anything! Hehe.

((And the point about Frodo never taking a life is from something I read somewhere – even in Moria and Amon Hen, right through to Mordor, I'm pretty sure he never killed an orc or goblin. I could _easily_ be wrong, but for the purposes of this story it works. Regardless of if I'm right or not, Frodo never has liked drawing steel on others, and had always been quite anti-killing – but he's not against being prepared.))

((Re-edited, re-uploaded: November 8th 2012))


	3. Return of the Nazgul

((Re-edited, re-uploaded: November 9th 2012))

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When Frodo woke in the early morning, Legolas, who had been last on watch, greeted him warmly. Evidently, the light-heartedness from the night before was still in the hearts and minds of the companions. Frodo, for his part, had slept the untroubled sleep of the content; being lulled to sleep through Elvish words. He only hoped that the nightmares would keep away for a little while yet; and enable him some measure of peace.

The sun shone warmly, and seemed to touch the traveller's hearts. The hours of horse riding were far easier, set at a slightly slower pace and filled with what little conversation could be achieved over the rushing wind. The horses seemed revived of spirit too, as the companions covered more ground than they expected to, riding eastward. They met little company on the roads, such as they were, and what few people they did see were surprised, to say the least, with the impressive display of running horses and laughing heroes.

Passing one such entranced man, Frodo considered what the eight of them must look like. Clad in a variety of garb – from light armour, to wizard robes, to conventional clothing – astride four great and galloping horses, and of different races. They must seem right out of a storybook to those of the sheltered western regions of Middle Earth.

The afternoon wore on, and soon the sun began to sink towards the horizon. Gandalf called a halt, gently leading Shadowfax from the road and to a nearby clearing alongside a small wooded thicket.

"We will be in sight of Weathertop tomorrow," said Gandalf, "and reach it in the early afternoon. The eagles will meet us there and take us on to Rivendell."

"What of the horses?" said Merry, from where he was giving an apple to Arod.

"Shadowfax will guide them to Rivendell. He knows the way," Gandalf replied with a gentle pat of his friend's mane.

The travellers busied themselves with setting up a camp for the oncoming night. As he was about to enter the small wood to gather more wood for the fire, Frodo was suddenly struck with pain. It lanced through his shoulder, seeming to set alight his very flesh through to the bone; a red-hot spike that sent him to his knees, reeling. Involuntarily, he cried out as he pressed the heel of his right hand to the wound, trying desperately to not let it overwhelm him.

Aragorn was at his side in an instant. "Frodo?" He could see Frodo's pale hand was rubbing at the location of the Morgul-blade wound, and even as he watched Frodo grasped at something around his neck. Aragorn recognised the glint of silver and diamond – the Evenstar, the gift his own wife had bestowed on the Ringbearer to ease his suffering and ongoing torment from the shadows.

Frodo was murmering in elvish to himself, not noticing his concerned friends. "_Elbereth ortannya sulelonya nwalme_…" His eyes were tightly closed, teeth gritted as sweat formed on his brow.

"Mithrandir! There are dark shapes on the wind!" called Faramir, who had been scanning the skies.

"Nazgul," said Merry and Pippin in unison. They shared a look and each drew their swords, as did Gandalf.

"Aragorn! Take the Hobbits undercover. Protect Frodo." The White Wizard turned, towards the oncoming Nazgul, Glamdring shining in one hand and his staff upraised in the other. "Legolas! Make them turn! Don't make them fall, or we'll have more trouble on our hands."

Spurred into action, Aragorn moved to pick Frodo up, but the hobbit opened his eyes and stopped him. "I'm all right, it's gone."

Aragorn pulled Frodo to his feet, before running to his bow and quiver to aid Legolas. Breathing calmly once again, Frodo drew his sword and stood with his friends, watching the dark shapes on the horizon come ever closer.

As soon as the lead Nazgul was in range, Legolas released his first arrow. It struck its intended target; but was a glancing blow. Regardless, it was enough to rent the skin of the great beast in a gash, causing the fell beast to screech in pain and anger. His second arrow did much the same damage, causing a second tear beneath the first that bled red over the beast's grey skin.

"Don't hit the wings!" Gandalf called back. He held up his staff as a pure white light flared from it, driving the wraiths back and causing their mounts to shriek in agony. "Don't let them land!"

both armed with their bows, Faramir and Aragorn were having less luck than Legolas – although their arrows sometimes found their mark, the small injuries were not helping enough; until Pippin was struck with an idea.

"Aragorn! Faramir! Aim for their legs – if they are injured enough, the beasts can't land or take off – they'll have no choice but to fly back to Mordor!"

"He's right." Aragorn said hurriedly to Faramir. "Aim for their legs and talons to prevent their landing. Make them turn."

Faramir nodded, and together the Gondorian men lined up their arrows. Three arrows were fired. Three arrows found their mark: grazing and embedding themselves within the upper thigh of the fell beast. One wraith turned to fly back East, his mount screeching in pain.

"They can't handle both the light and the arrows!" Faramir yelled triumphantly, bending his bow again. "We can rid ourselves of them one by one!"

Three more arrows were fired. Another wraith turned East. The other two screeched in fury, becoming bolder in their attack. One swooped, and Gandalf caught it on the lower leg with Glamdring, the sword biting deep and coming away dripping red. The wraith screeched and wheeled away East.

Outnumbered, half-blinded, and without backup, the final Nazgul did not care to take his chances. It followed the others of its own accord, and soon all four of the black shapes had disappeared in the quickly failing daylight.

Relief flooded the camp as the companions were able to sheathe and lay down their weapons. The good feeling gained the previous night had fled with the wraiths – danger and fear had returned to the camp, the threat of the east and the worry about the future. The close battle with the wraiths had bought everyone back to reality with a unkind effect; danger and darkness could be upon them at any time.

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"What was it you said in Elvish, Frodo?" Merry asked his cousin a while later. The four 'big' people were taking council with one another, standing together just out of the ring of firelight, talking quietly enough for the hobbits not to hear. The hobbits themselves were sitting close together by the warmth of the campfire, their hands never far from their sword-hilts.

"I'm entirely not sure. My Elvish is a little unused as of late. I recall I mentioned Elbereth… it means 'star-queen' in our speech. She's an Elven goddess. But as for the rest, I cannot say with any certainty. Roughly translated, from what I remember, it was something akin to 'Elbereth uplift my spirit from my torment'."

Pippin shrugged. "How appropriate…"

"I don't know why I said it. It just seemed like the best thing – as if someone had told me to speak it, almost as if I said it without knowing what I was going to say." It felt to Frodo like the words had come from nowhere, or someone else had spoken though him. He couldn't explain it; but was grateful nonetheless.

Pippin shifted slightly, one finger tapping the end of his sword. "Frodo? Do you think it will come to another war, and more darkness like last time?" He asked his elder cousin, his eyes filled with thought.

Frodo sighed quietly. "In honesty? I think it will. The threat, the fear… it feels like it did the last time. And the Nazgul…the Nazgul were destroyed with the Ring. Yet, they come at us again. How could they have returned?"

"Gandalf said evil was again in Mordor," said Sam quietly. "That must be why they're back."

"I suppose so. But _what_ is this evil?" replied Frodo, finally voicing a question that had been weighing heavily on his mind. "What could have bought them back? They are the corrupted spirits of nine great kings of men, bound into service of the Ring, which has been destroyed. What power could have reached deep enough to bring _them_ back?"

"And what does it have to do with us, is what I'd like to know," said Sam. "Gandalf said it concerns us _personally_. Because of the Fellowship?"

Merry nodded in agreement. "They obviously don't want to discuss it fully outside of Rivendell. That, at least, is some indication of the situation – or at least, how worried they are over it."

Frodo sighed heavily. "What I am going to say will seem like a disproportionate reaction out of fear and dark memory. But I think the Nazgul are looking for me."

"What makes you say that?" Pippin asked softly.

"In the Shire, Merry was beside me out in the open – it would have been just as easy to go for him, or target us both. Yet the wraith came directly for _me_. I know how that must sound, and I do not mean to make myself seem important – but I do wonder if it has any connection to my being the former Ringbearer…and to my actions in recent history."

"Frodo, if what you say is true and you find yourself in danger once more, we'll help you." Merry smiled reassuringly at his cousin, but Frodo shook his head slowly.

"I cannot ask that of you, nor will I accept it. You all nearly died last time. If I am right in my feeling, then this time – like last time – danger will come to everyone around me. I cannot put you all in that position again. I cannot pull you from your homes into the threat of death – or, from your families," Frodo added with a meaningful look at Sam, who smiled sadly and stared into the fire.

"Frodo, you can't stop us. There's three of us, and one of you – and Sam counts for two when you're involved," said Pippin, placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "We will stick by you, like last time, no matter the danger that comes for us. You're not doing anything alone this time."

Frodo sighed. "I will concede for now. But this won't be the last you hear of it. I am blessed to have you all."

Sam smiled back. He alone had been witness to the suffering and hardships the Ring had placed on Frodo, and had watched as his best friend was tortured and tormented with nothing that could aid him. He alone could see the imperceptible scars that had changed Frodo forever. He knew what this brave hobbit had been through to save his friends and his Shire, and knew the price he had paid – and even now, continued to pay. "Here now, we're blessed to have you, too."

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After his companions had settled themselves for the night's rest and Faramir had made himself comfortable for the watch, Frodo lay awake.

His mind would not quiet. What was all this about? What new evil could be in Mordor? And why, _why_ was he involved again? _I've had enough danger to last a lifetime_, he couldn't help but think. _Surely I have paid the price by now. Time will not erase my wounds, I am afflicted forever._ And why did he get the feeling there was something Gandalf wasn't telling them?

Frodo had caught Gandalf watching him closely over the past few days. There was always a hidden emotion in those twinkling eyes – one of sadness, of…regret? Something was troubling Gandalf, that involved him, but still Gandalf had not told him.

He couldn't help but feel this was all connected to him, and his part in the War of the Ring. He had borne the Ring back to Mordor, through suffering, Shelob, starvation and dehydration – and then faltered at the very end. True, the Ring had been destroyed and he had carried it, but few knew what really happened at the very end. Few knew he had claimed it, momentarily, before Gollum had, ironically, saved them all. Even with his own personal failure, he was still the Ringbearer, and had been the main target of the enemy camp. What was in store for him now?

These thoughts were still troubling Frodo as he fell asleep.

The next morning, the companions were saddled and riding before the sun had truly risen. They left no trace, or as little as possible, of where they had been, and spurned the horses eastward, to Weathertop. The ride was once again travelled in silence; all companions were on edge after the wraiths attack the pervious night.

Aragorn glanced down at Frodo, a great sadness welling in his heart. What Frodo might have to go through before the end…what _more_ he may have to endure…Aragorn resumed watching the road, remembering sadly what Gandalf had told Legolas, Faramir, and himself. What was happening in Mordor. How the hobbits were involved. And why the wraiths were after Frodo.

Aragorn knew the other three hobbits – especially Sam – would never let anything happen to Frodo; as soon as they knew the truth they would refuse to be parted from him, and accompany him wherever his journey would take him. However, if Aragorn knew anything of Frodo, he knew the hobbit would be loathe to put his friends in the way of danger, and the possibility of death and suffering.

Weathertop loomed in the distance, and the companions reached it a few hours past midday. The only thing left to do was wait for the mighty Wind-Lords, the eagles, to come and take them to Rivendell.

Frodo slipped away when no one was watching. He went quietly up the stairs to the ruins of Amon Sul, and sat atop the same ruin he had been stabbed beside. Memories of the wraiths' attack came back to Frodo with unfortunate clarity; the feeling of being trapped, the pain, how ill he had felt…how close he had come to becoming one of _them_. As Gandalf had warned; the wound had never truly healed. It now served as a painful and sickening reminder of what had transpired, and all that had come after.

He felt forever branded by darkness. Forever changed.

Absorbed in memories and considerations of the trials others and himself had passed through, Frodo closed his eyes, letting himself think more deeply about things more deeply than he had previously let himself. That was how Sam, Merry and Pippin found him, sitting motionless, almost meditative.

"Frodo?"

"Are you all right?"

Frodo opened his eyes, smiling a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine, just…remembering."

"The attack?" asked Merry, casting an uneasy glace around the ruins.

"And everything that followed." Frodo looked down at his mauled right hand. The skin had long since healed over, and all that was left was a stump, a few twisted scars. He closed the hand into a tight fist, hiding his damaged finger. "I do not wish anything like that to happen to any of us _again_."

"Nor I. But whatever comes of it, let's stick together this time. Frodo, don't get any ideas to run off alone, and Pip? Let's try to not to be caught by orcs." Merry said, a sad smile pulling at his lips. "We are not the same as we once were. This time, we're more prepared."

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"Where are the hobbits?" Faramir asked suddenly, glancing around. "I haven't seen Frodo since we stopped, and I saw the others only briefly."

"They are above us, in the ruins," Legolas replied, setting down his bow next to the pile of supplies to take to Rivendell. "They are, it seems, in conference with one another."

"In conference? What are they talking about?" Faramir asked, stopping for a moment.

"I do not wish to pry, but they're speaking about the War of the Ring, and their roles within it."

Gandalf smiled at the elf. "Let them be. The War of the Ring was hard for all of us; them most of all. More was asked of Shirefolk than ever before, and they saved us all, but not without cost. Let them voice any concerns they have to each other."

Thus the hobbits continued to speak their minds and concerns to one another, uninterrupted, until they heard a voice from below call the words that had been heard by many in different places, always carrying with them a wave of hope.

"The eagles are coming."

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Rivendell is next…. By the way, this story is a combination of the book and movie universes: I'm using details from both, but hopefully those details will be clear enough so it's easy to identify which is which.

((Re-edited, re-uploaded: November 9th 2012))


	4. The Eagles

Yes! Yes! I haven't updated for over a month. I've been hell busy with school, my aunts wedding, school, music – did I mention school? I've been really stressed, but now I have time to spare, so I'm updating. Two chapters. In return, you, my readers and reviewers, don't kill me. Ok?

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There were five eagles. Gwaihir the Wind-Lord, King of All Birds, had died shortly after the War of the Ring. It was his brother, Landroval, who had become the new King of Birds. Like Gwaihir, Landroval was good friends with Gandalf, and had come with four of his fastest eagles to Weathertop, to bear the travellers to Rivendell.

"Each eagle can only bear a fully grown man, or a hobbit and a dwarf," Gandalf said to the companions. "So the Hobbits and I will travel to Rivendell first, then three of the eagles will travel back to get Legolas, Aragorn and Faramir. The horses, led by Shadowfax, will continue to Rivendell on the ground. They should arrive in a few days. However, it will take us no more than three or four hours."

Everyone agreed, and the Hobbits climbed aboard an eagle each. Gandalf himself rode Landroval, and the four Halflings just chose at random whatever eagle they were on.

With a sweep of their wings, the eagles lifted from the ground and shot high into the sky, heading East to Rivendell.

Frodo knew he would never forget the feeling of flying on an eagle. He had done it once before, but that was after the Ring had been destroyed, and he had been barely conscious. It had been Gwaihir that had carried him that fateful day, carried him in his talon. This was different. This was actually flying on an eagle.

Frodo had never been afraid of heights. For him, it was an exhilarating experience to look down and see Middle-Earth far below.

"What's you name?" His own eagle, a hazelnut brown, was talking to him.

"What? Oh, I'm Frodo."

"I'm Meneldor. Wait….Frodo….didn't I help rescue you from Mordor, last year?"

"You were with Gwaihir?"

"And Landroval. You and your mate looked pretty bad. You're ok now?"

"No, some wounds cannot be healed; some things go to deep to be erased by time. I still have a few old wounds that trouble me from time to time."

"And your mate?"

"Sam? I'm not sure, but I don't think he's got any lasting physical wounds – just memories, bad experiences, you know?"

"Yeah. Which eagle he on?"

Frodo glanced around at the other flying eagles. Landroval was up the front, Gandalf on his back. He could see Pippin just ahead of him, riding on a black eagle. Merry was to his left, lower than Meneldor, riding an eagle with grey plumage. Sam was on his right, his eagle, with chestnut-and-white feathers, was a little above Meneldor's altitude.

"He's on the chestnut-and-white eagle."

"Oh, so Sam's riding Kemenmir." Meneldor nodded. "She's a smooth flyer. As for the others, the black one is Dinwath, and the grey one is Mithsul. As you know, the rustic brown is Landroval."

"The other two riders are two of my cousins. Merry is on Mithsul, and Pippin's on Dinwath."

"Right. You enjoying flying?"

"Absolutely! I've never felt anything like it."

"You're not afraid of heights?"

"No. This is the most amazing view."

Frodo and Meneldor continued to talk; about the War of the Ring, about Bilbo's adventure with the dwarves, where the eagles had helped them, about the eagles in general. Meneldor told stories about adventures the eagles had had. He was just finishing when Landroval started to descend. The other eagles followed.

"We have to leave you here," Landroval told the five travellers, once they were back on the ground. They were at the top of the valley where Rivendell was. A path wound down the side of the valley to the elven haven below.

The walk took the travellers a little over half an hour. The discussed the eagles; and Gandalf gave them all a little background knowledge about Gwaihir, and his family.

When they entered Rivendell, it was late afternoon. Elrond came out immediately to meet them. He led the five to the council area. Last time there had been a lot of strangers, and this time the faces were somewhat more familiar.

Eomer, King of Rohan, was there, clad in Rohirrim armour. Eowyn, the Lady of Ithilien, was next to him, wearing a simple white dress. The two were deep in conversation with Gimli, and another dwarf.

Looking as radiant as ever, Galadriel was there, Celeborn with her. The two of them were talking to Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir. Elrond and Gandalf joined them.

Glorfindel was there, talking with an elf and a man – neither of which Frodo had ever seen before.

"Who are they?" He asked the other three, inclining to the unknown elf and man.

"The man is Prince Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth," Pippin replied. "I don't know who the elf is, but I suppose it's Thranduil. Legolas said he would be here."

The four Hobbits approached Eomer, Eowyn and Gimli and the dwarf. The four conversationalists saw them and watched as they approached.

"Good Afternoon, Masters! How has life been since we last saw one another?" Gimli smiled underneath his beard.

The four smiled back. "Fine, Master Dwarf." Merry replied.

Frodo suddenly realized neither him nor Sam had formally met the King of Rohan or his sister. They had seen them both briefly, on the Fields of Cormallen, but had never been properly introduced.

Merry obviously had the same thought, because he quickly said, "Sire, Lady, you have not met my cousin and my friend. May I introduce Frodo Baggins, my cousin, and Samwise Gamgee, a very good friend of mine."

"An honour, Sire," Frodo replied. Eomer shook his head.

"The honour is mine, Frodo, meeting the two saviours of Middle-Earth. And please, all of you, call me Eomer. No 'Sire' or titles should pass between friends."

"Nor for me," Eowyn smiled. Her only knowledge of Hobbits had come from Merry and Pippin, two jokers, yet serious as kings at times. Frodo and Sam carried something different that she couldn't place.

Refreshments were bought as those waiting for the council continued to talk amongst one another. The unknown dwarf introduced himself as Thorin III Stonehelm, King Under the Mountain. King Dain II Ironfoot had died in the Battle of Dale.

They were waiting for Aragorn, Legolas and Faramir to join them. The three of them arrived in another hour. With them present, the council could finally begin.

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COUNCIL! Yay! The chapter which explains almost everything!


	5. The Second Council of Elrond

As promised, the other chapter…don't own LOTR

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"Friends of old. You have once again been summoned to Rivendell to be given some news of disaster. I shall let the King of Gondor explain." Elrond sat back down, as Aragorn stood up.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond. I was standing on a parapet in Gondor when I noticed something to the East. Grey clouds, and red lightening, over the Ephel Duath, the Mountains of Shadow. As we know, these mountains border Mordor along its West side. Since the War of the Ring, the land of Mordor has been dormant, deserted. There have been no signs of life there. Until now. The red lightening was primarily caused by Mt Doom, in and before the War of the Ring. It is active again.

"But this is not all. In one of the lightening flashes, I saw something that chilled my blood. A Dark Tower. Barad-Dur has been rebuilt, taller, and stronger than ever. I have reason to believe that there is an evil in Mordor."

At this statement, those who did not know already muttered to themselves, as Aragorn sat back down.

"If I may, I will speak." It was Faramir. As Elrond nodded, he stood.

"The same night, I had also seen the tip of the tower. It has no great eye on it, but I went to my horse to ride to Gondor from Ithilien. Eowyn came with me, and we arrived at the Citadel in time to see Aragorn going to the stables. After a hurried conversation, we took what we needed and rode towards Rivendell. We came to Edoras four and a half days later."

"This, I think, is where I take over," said Eomer, standing. "They came to me and explained the present situation. I left with them, heading for Rivendell. We were three days into our ride, when Aragorn turned his present direction and headed towards the eyries of the Eagles. He went to their King, Landroval. We made the decision for Faramir and Aragorn to be flown to Rivendell ahead of us, while Eowyn and myself led the horses there. We arrived about three days ago."

There was a silence as he sat down. Then Gandalf stood.

"By the time you had arrived, I, along with Aragorn, Faramir and Legolas, had gone down to the Shire as soon as we could. Legolas arrived with Thranduil just before we left and accompanied us. We have returned via Eagle-back with our four Hobbit friends. We arrived just in time to witness something that confirmed our fears."

Frodo, taking this as a slight cue, nodded and stood.

"A Nazgul attacked us in the Shire. Gandalf and the others arrived in time to stop it from physically hurting anyone. We gathered whatever we needed and went with them. We were to meet the Eagles at Weathertop, and they would bring us here. On the way, we were attacked again, this time by four of them. I hate to be jumping to conclusions, but I have a feeling they're after me. In the Shire, Merry was out in the open almost as much as I was, but the Wraith went straight for me, ignoring him. My shoulder flares with pain if they're near – it becomes more painful for longer depending on how many there are."

Gandalf nodded at the Hobbit, and Frodo sat back down. Gandalf stood again.

"Long before we left for the Shire, I had spoken to Celeborn, who was here already, along with the Lady Galadriel. He gave me some disturbing news that I have been keeping mainly to myself. Now is the time for it to be voiced.

"Celeborn told me some of his elves had been in lower Mirkwood, only to find a patrol of orcs. They were near the remains of the Tower of Dol Guldur. The elves killed all but one, for interrogation. They took him back to Lothlorien as a captive, and extracted information. I know not how they broke him, or made him speak, but Celeborn heard what the orc told, and told me as soon as he arrived. The orc had said, 'He's going to make another one! One more powerful than before!' Celeborn asked if he meant Sauron. 'No', the orc replied after more interrogation. 'Much worse!'. I have come to the conclusion that it is another Ring, but not Sauron making it. Sauron was originally a Maiar, savant of the Valar, as am I. He was corrupted by a Valar called Melkor. Melkor almost caused Middle-Earth's destruction in the time of creation. He wanted to rule. He was banished into the void. Now, I believe, he is back. It is he who wants to dominate life on Middle-Earth, by the means of another Ring. There is more. There have been reports of nine wraiths, yet the Witch King was slain by Lady Eowyn and Master Merry on the Pelennor Fields. However, Melkor is powerful enough to bring his most trusted servant back form the void. I believe Sauron is the new Witch King. Once again, there are nine wraiths."

"So what are we to do?" Interrupted Prince Imrahil.

"Mordor suffered heavy losses, as did we on the Pelennor Fields. I think if we can band together, elves, men, dwarves and eagles, we can destroy them before they have the time to build an army," replied Aragorn.

"And the wraiths?" interjected Elrohir.

"They can be killed only with blessed or elven blades. If we have an army of elves, they hopefully won't prove too much of an obstacle. We'll need all the men we can get, the more with blessed blades the better," Faramir answered.

"What about Melkor? To kill Sauron we had to destroy the Ring. What do we do about Melkor?" asked Merry. "Do we know any weaknesses of his?"

"That is one of out biggest problems. We know of no weaknesses of Melkor. We just need to destroy his forces, to get an upper hand." Aragorn responded.

Gandalf was still standing while this conversation went on. He now held up one of his hands to stem the flow of speakers. His face was troubled.

"I am sorry, but I had not finished. Why has Melkor not created this ring already? That was the main question on my mind, when I found out about him. We would know, Aragorn especially would know, as Gondor would probably be first attacked. Yet he has not made any move. All we know is an evil is in Mordor. Celeborn had the same thought as I did. He found out the reason Melkor has no ring at the moment. Sauron made the Ring with his cruelty, malice, and will to dominate all life, mixed with the gold, and the fires of Mt Doom. Melkor has all of those. But this time, he needs something else."

Gandalf paused. His eyes moved around those seated at the council, and lingered for just a moment on Frodo. Frodo caught the same glint of sadness in his eyes.

"Melkor needs blood. He needs a blood sacrifice to enhance the power of his Ring. He can only do it on a full moon, and he can only do it with one person. He needs the blood of the former Ringbearer, the one who carried it to Mt Doom."

There was silence as Gandalf finished. Then one word from one Hobbit.

"Mine."

Frodo closed his eyes, not caring what sort of company he was in. Melkor wanted his blood. It all made sense. The Wraith in the Shire wasn't trying to kill him, but capture him. To take him to Mordor, to Melkor.

"Why me?" Frodo opened his eyes and stared into Gandalf's eyes. "Why my blood?"

"He wants you strengths, mainly. However, it could also be vengeance for destroying the Ring and destroying Sauron. And because of that, he could see you as a threat." Gandalf watched as the small Halfling moved his gaze to the floor.

"So what do we do?" asked Sam, glancing at Frodo.

"We need to keep Frodo in hiding. We need a few of you to keep moving until Melkor is destroyed."

"We'll go," Pippin immediately spoke up, gesturing at himself, Sam and Merry.

"As will I," said Eowyn. She felt as if she had to go.

"And I," said Faramir. "I will accompany the five of them."

Elrond nodded. "You shall be the Companions of Blood."

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Honestly. 'Companions of Blood'. What was I thinking? Not one of my best ideas. Oh well.


	6. Musings and a Council of War

Uh-oh. I can see some torches being lit…pitchforks being sharpened...oh no...My reviewers are banding together to get me for my lack of updating! It's not my fault! I've been busy! REALLY busy. Spare a thought for me? (And don't kill me?)

I was notified by some of my readers about some typos in the previous chapter. I've corrected them, and have replaced the chapters. All is good now.

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The Council was dismissed, and those not ruling or leading a land were allowed to go where they pleased. For the Kings and the Lords, there was another council to discuss battle plans and war strategies.

The light in the Valley of Imladris started to fade and the lamps were lit. A nightly peace settled over Rivendell, as the inhabitants started to retire to their rooms. For a few, however, sleep was the last thing on their minds.

When everything was quiet, Frodo slipped out of the room he shared with his kin, and outside to a small stream. Sitting in the shadows near the edge, he started to go back over the events of the day.

"He needs the blood of the former Ringbearer, the one who carried it to Mt Doom…."

'Why is it always me? Why must my destiny be intertwined with the fate of the world? What is it about me?' Frodo thought, picking up a stone and throwing it into the stream.

Memories, more bad than good, filled Frodo's head as he lay back on the grass and watched the moon.

The Eye of Sauron, the Nazgul, the attack on Weathertop, Gollum, Mordor, Cirith Ungol, the Morgul vale, Minas Morgul, Shelob, Moria, Mt Doom, the fatigue, and, over all, his burden. The Ring.

"What will come of all of this?" Frodo said, talking to the stars, which gave no reply.

Frodo lay back for a while longer. He had escaped death numerous times on the Quest, but now he wasn't sure if he would come out of this danger alive.

Lost in thought, he only just heard the approach of someone behind him. Turning, he saw a lone figure walking towards him. Moonlight revealed it was Sam. He sat down beside Frodo.

"Sam? What are doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"True. I just needed a place to think. Why is it always me? Why is it always us? Why must it be my blood?"

"Gandalf said something about vengeance, and strength."

"Vengeance is easy enough to understand. But what strength do I have?"

"Strength of will, Frodo."

"That means nothing. I was corrupted in the end, wasn't I?"

"But you bore it longer than anyone, save Gollum. Gollum stayed in one place, and it consumed him. You took it to Mt Doom, as it became heavier every step of the way and you were the very end."

"But I was…infected…by it before then."

"Did you claim it before Mt Doom?"

"No, but-"

"There you go. Your will is one of the strongest I know. Isildur took it and was corrupted almost instantly. After Shelob, when I thought you were dead, I took it, and I felt the weight, the power. I hesitated before I gave it back to you in the Tower. I had only had it a few hours, and already I didn't want to part with it. That proves your will is strong."

"I just wish, for once, it wasn't something to do with us. Our lives were severely altered after the War of the Ring. Now this, I fear, will do more."

"Like what?"

"We both escaped death more than once. I'm still surprised none of us Hobbits died. Did you think this time we may not be so lucky? You can only escape death a certain number of times."

Sam put a reassuring arm around Frodo's shoulders. "I wouldn't think about it. We've done some pretty amazing things before, I think we could do some again."

Frodo smiled at his friend. "Right. Come on, lets get back before my two younger cousins think we've left without them."

ooooo _Earlier _oooo

Aragorn pointed to Mordor on the map of Middle-Earth spread on the table. "I think we need to strike quickly. We don't know hoe long Melkor's been here, so we don't know what sort of army he has. Isenguard is thankfully out of commission – unlike the War of the Ring, we will not have to worry about them."

Eomer nodded. "I agree. We should rally armies, and meet on the Pelennor fields, and storm the Morannon. We don't know how big their army is."

"Agreed. Thorin, how long would it take for you to get back to the Lonely Mountain, and gather your army?"

Thorin III Stonehelm looked thoughtful. "On foot, Lord Aragorn, it would take near a week to get back to Esgaroth and the Lonely Mountain."

"And to get from Esgaroth to the Black Gate?"

"Close on two weeks at least, Lord. Most likely more."

"The more we delay, the more time Melkor has. We need the Armies there as soon as possible. Aragorn, If Rohan meets you on the Pelennor Fields, would that help?" Eomer looked across to his fellow monarch.

Aragorn closed his eyes, making a few calculations. "If it took your army, Eomer, two days on horse back, and Gondor met you, it would probably take the combined army about four or five days to march on the Black Gate."

"Dol Amroth could also meet you, King Elessar," said Prince Imrahil, "and we could get to you in close on a week."

"Lord Celeborn. How long would it take to get from Lothlorien to the Morannon?"

Celeborn's face took on a thoughtful look. "About one and a half weeks, Lord. Perhaps more."

"Thranduil?"

"Two weeks. It depends if we are hindered passing through Mirkwood. We shouldn't be, though."

"Right. Gandalf, what is the date?"

"It is the 18th of March, Sire."

"Lords. On the 18th of April, one month from today, we march on the Black Gate. The Battle Plain, north of Mordor, Dagorlad, shall be out meeting place. We will draw Mordor out to it."

With that, the decision was made. Most Lords made preparations for their depart. Thorin made ready to return to Erebor, Gimli going with him. Thranduil and Legolas were to accompany them until the elves reached their own destination.

Gandalf, Imrahil, Aragorn and Eomer prepared to depart to the South; to Rohan, Gondor and Dol Amroth.

Celeborn and Galadriel left that night, making their way to Lothlorien.

All the preparations were made. All the plans decided. The second war for Middle Earth had almost begun.

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Done! (Falls from exhaustion and sleeps)


	7. Farewells and Gifts

I am so very sorry! I've been tired, and tied up with school. I have a Drama assessment in two days, which has been taking up a lot of time. Said assessment is VERY important.

So, with out any further ado (Apart from I don't own LOTR), here is chapter 7!

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The next morning, the original Fellowship of the Ring met in a small, secluded garden, a little way from the main buildings of Rivendell.

To anyone else, it looked as if they had come together to enjoy the day. The original companions, who had saved the world. Yet even though the sun shone brightly and warmed the faces of the eight, their hearts were heavy and dark with the grief of parting.

"My friends. Even though we have gathered in a place of such life, such light, my words I give with the sorrow that this could be our final meeting, all together. For in a mere few hours, we go our separate ways, for what could be the last time." Aragorn's gaze moved to the ground as he paused. "I go back to Gondor to rally my army. Gandalf comes with me, to be my advisor. We travel with Prince Imrahil and King Eomer."

"And I," started Legolas, "go with my father back to Mirkwood. Gimli accompanies my father and I, with Thorin, until we halt at our destination, and they continue."

"Thorin and I continue to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. We will meet again on the battle plain, come the 18th of April. You however…" Said Gimli.

"Then this is farewell." Merry's gaze dropped. "I can't help but think it will be farewell for the last time. For all of us, at one time in one place."

There was a silence as the meaning of Merry's words took effect. The silence was broken by Gandalf saying, "Does anyone have anything they want to say?"

The Fellowship stood silent as each member collected their thoughts.

"I want to say thank you." Everyone turned their gaze on Frodo.

"Why?"

"Because at the Council of Elrond, you made the decision to come with me. You left the relative security of your own homes, to help me. That being the way I was, I feel we're almost like family now. We've been through so much, done so much, and stood by each other. It's a strange feeling that this could be the last time we're all…here. Alive, I mean. I hate to be dark and depressing, but I think we were all so lucky last time, and…" Frodo shook his head, searching for the right words.

"And the luck might run out?" Legolas offered. Frodo nodded. Legolas smiled a little. "The same thought has crossed my mind. We might have to cheat fate again."

There was the sound of soft footsteps approaching, only heard by the most sensitive of ears. Legolas, who had detected the sound first, turned to see his father coming towards him. Thranduil was wearing a riding cloak, which moved like water as he walked.

"Legolas; we must away soon. Master Gimli, King Thorin also requires your presence at the main courtyard of Rivendell."

"We are coming, Father." Thranduil smiled at Legolas before returning almost as silently as he had arrived, making almost no noise at all.

"So now it is farewell. Aragorn, Gandalf – I will meet you on the field of battle. Gimli – we need not say our goodbyes until we part in Mirkwood. However…" here Legolas turned to the Hobbits, and knelt down as to be at eye level with them. "My friends. It is with a heavy heart I leave, not knowing if I will ever see you again. But no matter what the outcome of this battle, we will meet again in the Halls of Mandos, in the Undying Lands. Take care of one another." He embraced the four of them, before standing to embrace Aragorn and Gandalf.

"So, young Masters, we part in each others company, by our own will and reasons. This I say to you all – take care, be careful, and remember we all are fighting with one another, in different ways. Goodbye, my Halfling friends. Until we meet again, be it after this is over; to mourn or to rejoice, or after this life has ended and we are all together again. To you, Sire and Wizard, I say until we meet on the battle field, in one months time." Like Legolas, Gimli embraced them all.

The Fellowship started to walk back along the paths towards the central courtyard of Rivendell. On arrival, they saw that horses had been prepared for the four travellers. Gimli and Legolas mounted, along with Thranduil and Thorin.

Little was said at the leaving of the two elves and two dwarfs. Thoughts were more conveyed in eye contact and facial expressions than put into words said aloud.

It was early afternoon by the time the four rode out of the gates to Rivendell. They turned the horses and rode up the path out of the valley, disappearing from sight at the top of the dale. Legolas turned his horse and gave one final farewell to those at Rivendell, before riding away East to the Misty Mountains.

After a light midday meal, Aragorn and Gandalf came to find the Hobbits. The four of them were found talking in the same small garden the Fellowship had met in only hours before, the last time all of them would be together for a long time.

Aragorn bade the Hobbits come up with him and Gandalf to the main buildings of Rivendell. They accepted, wondering what could be important. Aragorn seemed to have some sort of secret air around him, and Gandalf had a telltale glitter in his eyes.

Once back at the main courtyard, Aragorn took a direction never read by the Hobbits. They passed the former resting place of Narsil, and other unfamiliar rooms until Aragorn opened a door and lead them into the Rivendell Armoury.

Weapons and shields of all sorts and shapes rested along the walls, as well as many different types of armour. Elven blades, curved and straight, daggers and swords, were upon the wall in rows, light bouncing off the metal of the blade, dancing on the walls, elvish inscriptions spidering up and along them

Elegant, tall even spears were stacked up against one corner, their polished hilts a dark, majestic brown and their spearheads almost as long as some of the swords. Elvish lettering spiralled along the blade.

Bows hung on the walls, bows of all sizes. All different in their own way – a different wood, a different design. The ends of the bows were capped in elegantly worked metals, ending in spikes, curves or a design to suit the user. Arrows were along side – in beautiful quivers, with different fletching for each, some made of different wood.

Armour was on stands – elven armour, chain mail, leather jerkins, greaves - all delicately worked and crafted to perfection.

The shields were different – some round, some carved, some standard shield size, some big enough to cover a full person. All carried a variation of crests: Rivendell, Mirkwood, Lothlorien, - even some of Gondor and Rohan.

The Hobbits stood in awe of their present surroundings. None of them had been to the Rivendell Armoury before, and the sight before them was so amazing they had not moved since they first saw it. Slowly, the first impression died away; allowing them to move over to Aragorn and Gandalf, who were standing beside a low table, watching them with amused expressions.

"It's quite amazing, isn't it? The Elves have always been master craftsmen; no doubt they always will be. But this, my friends, is what I wanted to show you," said Aragorn, gesturing to the table.

On top of the low table were many pieces of armour. Three chain mail shirts; with small rings, closely linked together, light and strong. Four more chain shirts; this time with bigger links, and a little heavier. To go over top, there were four leather jerkins; they were made of thick, light leather, and three were black and one was a dark forest green. The black jerkins had the white tree of Gondor across them, with the seven silver stars above. The green one had the mark of Rohan, a white horse.

Four small elven daggers lay next to them, with dark, polished wood hilts. Next to them were four small elven bows, light, springy, capped with silver and made of a highly polished light brown wood. The quivers to go with them were there, emblazoned with the same sable as the leather jerkins – Gondor and Rohan.

Everything, from the bows and quivers to the chain mail, was Hobbit sized.

"These pieces of armour are my last gift to you before we part. I have taken the liberty of giving you the White Tree to wear; except you, Master Merry. I thought, given a choice, you would perhaps rather wear that of Rohan."

"Aragorn, Sire, we can't take these…"

"I insist you take them. It would do my good to know you are well protected this time around."

The door of the armoury swung open. Faramir and Eowyn walked in, arm in arm.

"You wanted us, Sire?"

"Yes, I did…"

For Eowyn and Faramir, there was the same armour as the Hobbits, except that it was made in the right size for them, and there were elven cloaks to accompany it. Eowyn's armour, like Merry's, was emblazoned with the horse of Rohan, and Faramir's was adorned with the tree of Gondor.

"Thank you, Lord Aragorn," said Faramir softly, "I would be honoured to wear this."

"We all are, Lord," said Pippin.

"Then wear them with pride and honour as you see fit!" Gandalf said, laughing at the seriousness of them all. "Aragorn, we must bade these fine people farewell. It is time we left."

Aragorn nodded and the group left the armoury. Back in the main courtyard, Eomer and Prince Imrahil were waiting with their horses. Eowyn ran to farewell her brother, and Faramir went to talk with Prince Imrahil.

"Well, now is the time for our farewell. Good luck, take care, remember us. Once this is over, I invite you back to Gondor, if you wish." Aragorn knelt and embraced them. "I wish to be going with you, if the truth be told. I wish to travel the wild as a ranger once more. But I must serve my kingdom, so I return to Gondor. Farewell, periannath, my friends." Aragorn rose to talk to Eomer, who had his arms around Eowyn.

Gandalf smiled a little as he, too, knelt to the same height of the Hobbits. "Friends. Through all we've gone through, you have always amazed me. No doubt you will do so again, when we meet again; be it in Rivendell, Gondor, or Valinor, across the sea. I doubt that you will pass over by the end of this war." He embraced them, and placed his hands out in front of him. Merry and Pippin grasped one; Frodo and Sam clasped the other. "Namarie, my heroic friends. Namarie."

With that, Gandalf rose and mounted Shadowfax. Eomer, Prince Imrahil, and Aragorn did likewise, mounting their own steeds. With a final nod at Elrond, the four riders rode out of Rivendell and up the winding valley path.

The four Hobbits walked to the small courtyard outside their rooms. They could see the top of the path here, and watched the horses over the top. Then, they all came back and stood in a row at the edge. A long horn call split the air.

"Rohan!" Merry bolted inside his room and returned with his own horn. Standing facing the horses at the top of the ravine, he blew an answering call. The horses turned and cantered away, Merry's return call still echoing in the valley below.

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Thanks for being so patient, guys. My next obstacle is this drama assessment…


	8. Musings and Thoughts

OH MY GOD! I am soooooooooooooooooooooo sorry to all readers whom I have kept waiting! I have been submerged in schoolwork, singing, productions and things of the like. Most recently I have had a Drama Assessment dropped on me. Everyone can slap my wrists once if they please. Thanks so much to my patient reviewers!

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"Well met!" laughed Eowyn, coming out of a passage, her arm linked with Faramir's. "Well met, Merry."

Merry lowered the horn from his lips, grinning. "Thank you, Lady."

"My friends," started Faramir, " I came to tell you that we plan to leave tomorrow. Elrond and Gandalf have arranged for the eagles to fly us over the Misty Mountains to the western edge of Mirkwood. From there, we will keep to the edge of Mirkwood, and head south to Lothlorien. We can receive any news there. If Melkor has not been defeated, we will proceed to either Edoras or Minas Tirith." He watched as the Hobbits nodded.

"I will see you tomorrow morning, in the main courtyard." Faramir turned to go, leading Eowyn with him. She turned back towards the Hobbits.

"And don't forget your armour!"

oooooooo

The Hobbits spent the remainder of the day preparing for their journey, finding everything they would need. A dark-haired elf bought the armour for each of them from the armoury. By evening, they were packed and ready.

Later, Frodo lay on his bed, a Hobbit-sized Gondorian gauntlet in his hand. Black-blue stiff leather, adorned with the White Tree and the Seven Stars. It reminded him of Boromir, who had owned gauntlets of the same appearance, gauntlets that had borne their age and scars like a badge of honour.

Aragorn had those gauntlets now. He still wore them, out of respect to Boromir.

Frodo put the gauntlet back with his own armour, the moonlight reflecting off the silver adorning. Not wanting to think about the future, Frodo lay back down on his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The morning dawned bright and clear. Thoughtfulness was in the air. Not much was said, yet at the same time, few stayed silent.

Frodo was strapping himself into his armour. Catching sight of himself in a mirror, he was surprised at what he saw. He didn't recognise himself. Instead of a normal Hobbit, one who had literally been to hell and back, a Gondorian warrior stared out at him from the depths of the mirror.

Frodo sighed inwardly, knowing that his life would never be truly the same again. It hadn't been after the War of the Ring of course, but now he felt changed beyond words. The thought that once again, out of all those in the world, it was him who was at the centre of it. It was him the enemy wanted. Always him that bought danger to his friends and kept them in harm's way.

Frodo was so lost in the innermost depths of his thoughts he didn't hear Merry come in.

"Admiring yourself?"

"What?" Frodo turned around, seeing Merry with a grin on his face.

"You're in front of the mirror, in armour. One would naturally assume you're being vain. However, since I never 'naturally assume' I know you're not admiring yourself."

"Never 'naturally assume'?"

"Alright, almost never. But I do know my cousins, and I know something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Merry. I'm just thoughtful."

"Is it me, or do you use that answer a lot?"

Frodo grinned. Trust it to be Merry or Pippin that restored his humour and good faith. He took the moment to look at Merry fully. Merry was attired in his Rohirric armour, the white horse dancing across the front. Merry noticed Frodo watching and did a twirl.

"How do you think I look?" he asked, imitating a woman in a dress.

Frodo laughed. "I don't think I can up with a reply for that."

"Frodo? Merry? Where are you two?" It was Pippin's voice out in the hall.

"Here, fool of a Took."

Pippin ran in and launched himself at Merry. "I resent that."

Sam, who had come in after Pippin, walked around the bickering pair to Frodo. They both stood apart, each trying to grasp the concept of their best friend in Gondorian armour.

"I don't feel like myself," Sam said, looking down at himself.

Frodo nodded. "If you don't mind me saying, you don't exactly look like yourself either."

Sam smiled. "I could say the same about you. Are you two finished?" This last comment was directed at Merry and Pippin, who were still insulting each other. The two younger Hobbits nodded, and got up, dusting off their armour.

"Faramir wants us in the courtyard in about half an hour." Pippin said as he rose.

"Already time? It seems like we only arrived an hour ago." Frodo didn't want to leave this safe haven, to face danger and despair once again. But he kept quiet. As the eldest, he knew Merry and Pippin looked to him (to some extent) for primary judgement on situations. They were coming because of him, because he had to leave. If he voiced his concerns, he felt they would feel worse about leaving Rivendell.

Sam was really the only one Frodo could tell anything – before the quest they were the best of friends, now, after it, they were brothers. Merry and Pippin excused themselves to go and check their packs, giving Frodo and Sam a bit of time to themselves.

Leaning on the balcony overlooking the valley, Frodo and Sam stood in silence, contemplating the journey ahead of them. They both shared the same sort of thoughts – what was going to happen? Would they survive? Would they come back? How strong was the enemy? Was the enemy watching Rivendell? Did they stand a chance?

The silence shared was somewhat comforting for them. It reminded Frodo of his friends, his allies who would never turn their backs on him, yet at the same time reminded him it was basically his fault.

"Frodo? We should get to the courtyard."

Frodo nodded, still suspended in thought. "Right, Sam."

oooooooooooo

Faramir and Eowyn strapped on their own armour, and prepared for the journey.

"Faramir?"

"Yes, beloved?"

"You've met Frodo and Sam before haven't you? More than I have, I mean. Only briefly have I met either. Tell me, what are they like?"

Faramir stopped what he was doing and paused, his mind going back to the fateful day when he had met Frodo and Sam in Ithilien.

"I met the two of them on their way to Mordor, in Ithilien. I wasn't sure how to react to them, as they were being secret, and apart from my men, there were only spies travelling there. I must admit, I was; now I think about it, a little hostile towards them. After discovering what Frodo carried, I could only think of taking it to my father. That was partly the Ring itself, and partly the thought of doing something good in the eyes of my father. I was blinded by the thought. I took them to Osgiliath. It was only there, after Frodo had almost been captured-"

"What?" Interjected Eowyn.

"There were Nazgul at Osgiliath. The Ring's influence grew stronger, and he almost put the Ring on and succumbed to the darkness. He would have bee taken straight to Barad-Dur, had the Ringwraith succeed. But the Wraith was foiled by Sam, who stopped Frodo and pulled him out of reach of the talons of the Fellbeast. I do not know what happened to Frodo at that point, but he drew his sword point at Sam's throat, alarmingly out of normal behaviour. I can only guess it was some effect of the Ring. I do not know what words passed between them, but recognition sparked in Frodo's eyes and he dropped his sword. It was then I realised what they were truly like.

"Hobbits are very individual, but some traits they share. Frodo is unusually thoughtful, more of a philosopher than a warrior, like so many people in this world, yet he will fight with vigour and purpose when the need drives him. He is quiet, the silent observer who stands in the corner and takes in everything before making a decision. He loves his cousins and Sam more everything in the world, and would never do anything to cause them harm. I think he is unsure of them coming with us. He is as loyal to Sam as Sam is to him, but doesn't show it like Sam does."

"And Sam?"

"Loyal, very loyal. Not just to Frodo, but also to anyone he trusts. It will take a little to convince the trust of Samwise, especially if you acted foolishly like I did. He is never afraid to speak his mind, and sometimes be very outspoken, but can also be so very gentle and kind. He is more a fighter than Frodo, and is almost as thoughtful. Sam will do anything for Frodo, they have become like brothers after their recent ordeal. Whereas Frodo is a silent observer, Sam will add to the discussion, observing as he goes."

"So how should I act towards them?"

"What a strange question Eowyn! Be yourself. They will like you for who you are."

Shouldering her pack, Eowyn smiled. "Come on, O Steward, we must meet our companions in the courtyard."

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I hope that was ok, and I will hopefully get my ass in gear and keep writing. Please review! I fear I am loosing my readers!


	9. Mind's Heaven and Mind's Hell

Well, so much for getting my ass in gear and updating quickly. It's been…what, near two months? Three? …since I last updated. I am shocked and ashamed.

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The six companions greeted each other as they met in the courtyard. Lord Elrond stepped down from where he was and inclined his head slightly to them.

"Not even a year since the last ordeal was over, we, once again, say farewell to a group of companions in this courtyard. May Iluvatar be with you all."

Slowly, turning their backs on Elrond and his elves, the companions climbed the winding path that led up the side of the valley of Imladris. Each footfall, each step, led them further from the warmth and civilisation of Rivendell, led them further into the wild lands of Middle-Earth, further into the unknown future.

They were silent, each person lost in their own thoughts and feelings. It was like the Fellowship had been when they had left on their fateful journey – only this time, there was a change in the general atmosphere of the group. The Fellowship knew the impending danger, knew the enemy was watching, knew the enemy knew where they were and where they were going, and all were worried, all didn't know what could happen.

This time, the companions knew the danger, yes – but the enemy had no idea where they would go. They had no errand, no particular place to go; all of Middle-Earth was open for them. True, the future was clouded, but one thing the companions knew – this was now not a game of speed or strength, as it had been last time, but now a game of logic and wits, of strategy, as the companions would have to craftily elude the enemy.

Knowing that they had the slight advantage at this point in time gave the atmosphere a slight lift, let the companions, though alert, relax a little.

After a half hour or so of walking, the Companions reached the top of the valley. The Eagles were waiting, as they had been told they would, but this time there was six eagles instead of five.

Bows were exchanged, and the Companions mounted. The trip across the Misty Mountains to the edge of Mirkwood took just over an hour. Some talked, some sang, others sat in thought.

As the Eagles touched down on the Eastern side of the mountains, and the Companions dismounted, Frodo looked onto a part of Middle-earth where he had never been before. Mirkwood he knew about from Bilbo's tales. While flying over, he had looked for the Carrock and the house of Beorn. He had seen them both, small patches of colour on the land below.

And bidding the Eagles farewell, and watching them fly back across the Misty Mountains to their eyries, the Companions started their own journey walking down the edge of Mirkwood.

It was mid-morning; the sun was high and the air warm. The companions saw no living creatures, but heard many birds, and the feeling of the group was light and happy.

Because they could go at their own leisurely pace, the Companions didn't try to cover leagues and leagues of ground. It was late in the day when they came upon a small stream, flowing with cool, clear water. It flowed down from the mountains, until it went over a small cliff, where it cascaded down the bank into a pool, then snaked off into Mirkwood.

The cliff it went over was a small clearing on Mirkwood's edge. The forest ground on either side sloped into a natural dip, where as the land to the west of Mirkwood kept going as flat as ever, creating a hollow with forest on three sides and rock cliff on one side.

It was Pippin that discovered this private paradise. He called the others over to it, and it only took a few moments to decide within the group to stay for a few days here. It was peaceful, secret, undiscovered by anyone, and safe.

In the cliff was a cave – not overly big, but big enough for the six Companions to move in, so to speak. The clearing itself was large enough to be accommodating for them and a fire, with much room to spare.

The Companions felt they could drop their guard a little, relax in the small piece of peace they had discovered.

oooooooo

Over the next few days, the glade felt like a near equivalent to home. Spirits were lifted, rest was claimed, and relaxation was everywhere. There was hardly any talk or thought of anything outside this clearing. It was like another world for the Companions, a world just of their own.

Faramir took the time to teach the Hobbits archery. Aragorn had given them bows, so Faramir set up some crude targets and gave them all some quick lessons. Hobbits have bows in the Shire; so the four of them were not utter failures of students, rather students who had not done it for a while.

They all managed to hit the targets (sometimes not their own), but improved as the days wore on. Pippin was the best marksman out of them, the other three good, but not excellent.

Frodo managed too – it was the first time he had properly used his maimed left hand after the war of the ring. He could only hold his bow with his three remaining fingers, but even with his disadvantage, he was still a very good shot.

The companions also started to take up the time in the day in good use, although it bought back a little of the remembrance of the danger. When hey weren't shooting, the Hobbits practiced swordplay with each other, sparing until they were too tired, someone lost their blade, or one got in under a guard. They were careful to wind fabric around the blades so not to hurt one another.

Through the days, they honed their skills – although they were not champions. The practise took up the sunlight hours in the day, and the moonlight ones were spent around a fire and sleeping, a contented sleep with bought major refreshment to all.

Except one.

For the third or fourth time that night, Frodo awoke from another nightmare. They had been plaguing him again and again, never letting him sleep. The days had been drawing closer, but Frodo knew to tell anything would break the joyful atmosphere. He sighed, rolled back over and tried to get back to sleep.

The next day was like the others – talk, laugh, practice, relax. Frodo smiled on the outside, and cried on the inside. He tried not to let on, and it worked. Sam noticed he was quieter, but thought no more of it – after all, what could be bothering Frodo here?

In the late afternoon, Frodo climbed onto a rocky sunlight ledge. It wasn't very high above the camp, but the ledge itself was deep enough for him not to be seen. In the fading sun, Frodo let his guard down. Silent tears trailed down his face and onto the ground below.

All the thoughts that had been in his mind since Rivendell finally came together. He couldn't take it. He wasn't going to…a thought hit him suddenly, an idea. He knew it could well be the only way…

He sat and cried a while longer, then dried his tears, and took time to just sit. When he was sure his mask of calmness and joy wasn't shattered, he climbed back down to the clearing.

Frodo woke suddenly, from another haunting nightmare of fire, wraiths, the Eye and darkness. Casting a glance around the cave, he notes all his companions were still asleep lost in their own peaceful dreams.

Knowing no sleep would come; Frodo crept silently past his companions and out of the cave to the moonlight glade.

Shadows lay on the softly light ground, nightly noises of the forest a whisper in the background. Drawing close to the waterfall, Frodo saw his own reflection in the swirling water. It wasn't like the gaunt face from the War of the Ring, but it was a saddened face. With out the 'mask' he had been wearing, anyone who looked in his eyes would see what he thought. See the terrified, saddened, depressed soul within.

Frodo drew away from the water, back to the main part of the clearing itself. Reaching to the inside of the cave, his fingers grasped the hilt of his dagger, given to him by Aragorn.

The blade glinted eerily in the moonlight. It was a reassuring, yet evil weight in his right hand. He had already made a decision – the blade would cut the arteries on his arms, letting him bleed, letting him fade into a world of darkness before deaths' icy hand closed around him forever.

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I'm not too sure how many people have done this (points to last paragraph) with LotR – to me, it just doesn't fit with Middle-Earth. If you're not happy with it, don't get all evil at me and send a major flame, just say. Anyway, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! I won't keep writing if no one reviews me, cause I'll know no one likes my story!


	10. Advice and Council

Ohhh…final part…what's he gonna do?

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Frodo slowly raised the blade to rest on his left wrist. Stabilizing the blade with his thumb, he quickly drew the blade back, slicing open some of his wrist in a thin slash. Some blood began to well out, but not much. Frodo already knew he would have to cut more than once, but the pain for just once was so harsh he was unsure he could get up enough to do it again and again.

No, he knew it would take to long. He would have to end it quickly, just one slash, to end it. One slash…or one stab? His heart would only take one quick stab and he would die. It was a more viable option.

He positioned the tip of the blade over his fiercely beating heart, preparing himself to make the killing stroke, to push the blade deep into his own flesh and send him on to death's domain…

Deep in her dreams, Eowyn felt something move lightly past her. For some reason, it didn't feel right. She came to full consciousness, opening her eyes and letting them adjust to the darkness of the cave. She glanced around at her sleeping companions, noting with not much fear one was missing. Turning around to lie back down, she caught a glance of a figure in the moonlight clutching a dagger, dying sliver moonlight glinting off the blade.

She was about to rouse Faramir and reach for her sword when she realised the figure was Frodo. What was he doing? Before her eyes she watched as he lifted the dagger to his wrist and cut. Horrifying realisation came, and Eowyn sprang out of her blankets and out of the cave, running lightly down to the depressed figure.

She wasn't far behind him when she saw him position the blade over his heart, to make the killing stab.

"Frodo?"

Frodo turned, the blade still over his heart. Seeing Eowyn made him come swiftly and suddenly back reality, as he fell to his knees and dropped the blade. She ran to him and knelt down.

"What were you doing?"

Frodo tried to speak, tried to tell Eowyn what it was that was in his thoughts, but as he did, the mask of calmness he had been wearing shattered. Frodo just shook his head as tears started to fall.

Eowyn felt pity for this Hobbit, who had been thrown into things where he didn't belong, given tasks he should have never had to endure. She put her arms around the crying form, trying to provide some comfort. She waited while Frodo calmed down enough to speak. He stopped shaking, and she took away her arms so she could talk to him.

"Frodo, what were you doing?" she asked softly.

"Trying to end it." The reply was almost a whisper.

"Why?"

Frodo collected his thoughts to answer. "Because I…I…thought it would stop the danger."

Eowyn did a slight double take. "Stop the danger?"

Frodo sighed. He didn't want to explain.

"If I die, everything is over. Melkor can't get my blood, if it is washed away by the river or soaks into the earth. I wanted to keep the others out of harm. I've done it before – I led them into danger. They almost died. I didn't want to do it again."

She embraced him again. Eowyn smiled, though Frodo couldn't see. Always thinking of others before himself. She wondered what Sam might say, if he was here.

"Why didn't you tell anyone? We need to trust each other, Frodo."

"And I do, fully. I didn't know what you would say or think. I didn't want to be stopped. I knew if I spoke out, I would be watched, like some sort of animal. This was my one chance."

"Which I ruined. But I think you might be glad I was here, when you think about it. Did you really want to give everything up?"

"No, but I didn't want anyone else to, either. To die in a battle, in a war…"

"…is honour. Those who go to fight know that."

Frodo sighed again. "You're right. I just…didn't want to repeat anything. I never thought anything like this would happen again."

Eowyn placed a gentle hand on Frodo's shoulder. "We never do, but must face it when it does. We must do what is required of us."

The pair were quiet for a while longer, before Frodo spoke again.

"Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, do you know what today is?"

"No, Master Hobbit, I do not."

"It is the 25th day of March. Exactly a year."

Since what? Eowyn thought for a moment.

"The Ring?"

"The destruction of it. A year today." He fell silent, his right hand rubbing the stump on his left. "One year…"

As he did, Eowyn noticed the slash from the dagger. She reached over and rolled his hand palm upwards, to look at it better.

"Deep, but not too deep. It will heal, but you might be left was a thin scar. Wait here." She ran back to the cave and gathered some of the Companions' medical supplies.

Putting a little Athelas on the gash, she wound a small, light bandage around his wrist and fastened it. "There. That should hear fine."

Frodo pulled down his sleeve so the bandage was covered. "I don't think I should tell the others. At least, not yet."

"Then I will not utter a word either. Come, there are still a few hours before our comrades will arouse themselves."

She stood, as Frodo did the same. He picked up the dropped dagger, and took it over to the waterfall, where he carefully washed his own blood from the blade, before drying it on his shirt.

The two Companions walked back to the cave and back to their blankets. Frodo replaced the dagger, and Eowyn smiled at him. He returned the gesture as she closed her eyes, regaining sleep for a few more hours.

Frodo went back to his own makeshift bed, but lying down did not sleep. He was not the only one.

Having heard the conversation that took place between Shieldmaiden and Hobbit, Merry also lay awake; worried for his thoughtful cousin.

It was a year, a year since Frodo had undergone such turmoil with the Ring, a year since he and Sam faced Mordor. Merry knew it all, had often wondered what Frodo thought and remembered, but had never talked to him about it. He knew he would have to talk to Frodo, for the memory of the conversation would not fade willingly.

"Frodo?"

"Merry? Why are you awake this early?"

Merry decided to skip a reply. "Frodo, I heard your conversation with Eowyn."

Frodo immediately broke his eye contact with Merry and looked down at the cave floor. Merry felt a little guilty for coming out with it, as it obviously took his cousin by surprise, and Frodo did not look as if he wanted to talk about it. Merry came and sat next to Frodo.

"Frodo…look, we're all here because we choose to be. You didn't get us into it, nor did anyone play a part in us making up our minds. Our own minds. We choose to be here, with you. If you go, we go. If you stay, we stay. I would go mad sitting in Brandy Hall and wondering what could be happening."

Frodo stayed quiet, so Merry continued. "You're my cousin, you're Pip's cousin, and you're a brother to Sam. We all trust you, and you, I pray, trust us. You don't lead, we don't follow. We walk together. We are all free to make our own decisions. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Thank you, Merry. That's made me feel a lot better."

"I hope it has. If you died, we wouldn't be _saved_, we would be punished. Do you think we would ever be able to forgive ourselves?"

"But there would be nothing to forgive…"

"We would think it was our fault, just as you think it is your fault we are here. To one, there is nothing, to the other, everything. You see guilt where I see none. I see guilt where you see none."

"Yes, yes, you're right."

"And I know today is the one year anniversary, but don't dwell on it. It's in the past. Remember it, yes, but don't spend every minute of every day thinking of it. Look, we love you, Frodo, all of us do."

"And I all of you. I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? There is nothing to forgive."

The two cousins embraced. Merry smiled at Frodo, who smiled back.

"Just don't tell Sam or Pip. I don't want everyone thinking I'm depressed or anything. I'm not, really. You and Eowyn have changed that."

"We have? Good. Well, we're all here, if you ever need us."

"Yes, you always have. You and your family…after…"

"Do you mean Drogo and Primula? Yes, it was unfortunate."

"That means I've known you longest, does it not? You grew up with me at Brandy Hall."

"You mean I grew, and you were there, because you had already grown! Honestly, sometimes I forget our ages. You act younger than yours sometimes…"

"…and you act older than yours, sometimes."

The dawn turned to morning, and sunlight entered the cave. Merry and Frodo continued to remember their childhoods, until the sleeping companions began to rouse themselves from their restful sleep.

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Nice ending. See? It didn't turn out bad.

Next Chapter Sneak-Peak: Something's coming…story turning point…


	11. The 25th Day of March

I know, I should be dropped into the Cracks of Doom for the lack of updating. I've been studying and sitting my major exams, and have been busy, as you can imagine. However, now I have time. So I sat down and wrote this chapter. I think it may be a little shorter, though, sorry, and I was wrong: This chapter does not have the turning point, I comes next chapter, hopefully.

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The morning was bright and clear, yet there was a strange feeling over the camp. It was a thought more than a fact – all the companions knew the day was important without knowing the actual date. There was a feeling that something had happened, but after taking the time to think about it, not much was said about it. It was understanding glances rather than words.

Frodo, especially, was strangely peaceful. He was thoughtful, as was normal, but there was a serene, almost quiet look in his eyes, as if he was hardly watching the world around him.

The day passed slowly, the companions busy around their camp and doing whatever took their fancy – archery, swordplay, conversation, or, in the case of the former Ringbearer, simply lost in thought.

Frodo was not the only one who realised the significance of the day. Hundreds of leagues away, Aragorn woke at dawn to the sun slowly rising. They had been riding almost a week, and would be at Edoras in a few days. The gap of Rohan was near.

Shaking off the feeling of sleep, Aragorn stood and started to put his armour back on, picking up the pieces from where he had put them last night, before he went to sleep. As he was finishing buckling on his sword belt, there was a waking groan in the direction of the King of Rohan.

Eomer gave a nodded greeting to Aragorn, before trying to properly wake up and make sense of the day. Gandalf was awake by now, and was readying Shadowfax for another day of riding. Imrahil was still lightly asleep, but woke to the sound of Eomer sliding his sword into its sheath.

The four were not very talkative, but after a light meal and the clearing of their camp, they saddled their horses and began to ride before the sun had properly risen.

After getting the horses into their stride, the riders began to relax, keeping their eyes on the land ahead. Aragorn was lost in thought. As his mind wandered, it visited the memories from a year ago, the Battle of the Pelannor Fields, the Battle of the Morannon, the Army of the Dead, the original Council of Elrond…

Aragorn smiled as he realised the day. It was the Gondorian New Year. And it was the New Year because of…

Aragorn's smile slowly faded as he remembered his friends, the Hobbits who had become more than anyone could have guessed. The Periannath who had been drawn into the fate of Middle-Earth, and who had come out changed. After all, everyone had some resulting change from the War of the Ring. And now, they were drawn in once again, or, at least Frodo was, but his loyal friends would not let him go alone.

When the four riders stopped at midday to rest their horses, Aragorn sat with Gandalf on a small hill, out of earshot of Imrahil and Eomer, who were talking about their respective armies.

"So, Sire, you have realised the day?"

"I have, Mithrandir. I cannot help thinking – where are they?"

"Safe, I pray. Faramir said he was not entirely sure of their route."

Aragorn nodded. "I wonder how they are faring today, I wonder if they have realised the day, realised the date…"

"I am sure they have. Frodo, I think, will have most definitely realised."

"Yes, he will have. He can never forget. Gandalf, why do we go to face the armies of Mordor again? Why must we repeat history?"

"You know I cannot answer that. History has chosen to repeat itself, and we cannot stop it. We must take whatever comes."

"But not fully repeat itself – we are now fighting Melkor, not Sauron, as the Dark Lord. A worse opponent. Victory was difficult last time, and now could be almost unreachable, Gandalf."

"There is still hope, that we can crush Melkor while he is weak, or weaker than he will be. And we are stronger. We have not already fought a battle, and have more armies. There is still hope."

Aragorn nodded, rising from where he was sitting. "We better keep going if we want to make Edoras the day after tomorrow."

Calling to Imrahil and Eomer, the four mounted their horses and continued their journey to Edoras, Aragorn and Gandalf's thoughts dwelling on the memories of the previous year, and of their friends.

The sun was sinking as the companions came together for an evening meal. Afterwards, they sat around the fire, the firelight flickering over their faces, illuminating their expressions and movements.

There had been less than usual communication during the day, and now they were all together it seemed the perfect opportunity for conversation.

"Faramir – I wish you all the best for the year ahead." It was one of the first things Frodo had said in the day. "It is, after all, Gondorian New Year."

There were nods. Then Faramir lifted his head and looked straight into Frodo's eyes. "But we in Gondor do not forget the reason for the New Year."

Frodo broke the eye contact, moving his eyes down to stare into the fire. "A year today…" he whispered, his voice becoming lost into the flames. Those flames…reminders of the Mountain of Fire…of the Cracks of Doom…The Ring…

Frodo started to speak, to the surprise of those in his company. "No one will ever understand. Understand the feeling of the Ring, the feeling of powers of Darkness. Everyday was a nightmare. Every night was a fitful sleep, filled with more nightmares and then waking up and feeling like I've not slept at all. It broke my hope long before it broke my soul. I thought I would get to Mount Doom or die trying. Then I thought I would get to Mount Doom and die, never come back. Every step made it heavier, until it began to physically cut into my neck. I could not tell right from wrong. My world has changed for the worst. It was my curse. It still is."

Silence greeted his words. Frodo's companions knew a little of what he had been through, but they had never heard Frodo speak of it. It was surprising for him to share it.

Frodo held up his maimed left hand. "The major constant reminder. Although, one could say I was fortunate. I only lost a finger. I kept my life."

There seemed to be nothing that anyone could say. Silence reigned once again around the fire.

"I watched you. Mordor became terrible for me too, but not as much nor in the same way as you. I had to watch as the Ring affected you. As Gollum spun lies to you. Every day you became further away, became less like my best friend. And I could do nothing but watch."

Frodo reached out a hand to Sam, for it was, of course, he who had spoken. Sam reached out a hand in return and the two hands clasped. Frodo smiled slightly.

"You did everything. I would have been dead without you, Sam. You kept Gollum in check when my judgement was unclear; you kept hope when mine was lost. If you had not been with me, I would be dead and either Sauron or Gollum would have the Ring, or I would have succumbed to the darkness…you do not realise what you did, do you Samwise Gamgee? You helped me remember who I was."

The two friends let their hands fall. The other four sitting around the fire watched this interaction with fascination. Frodo and Sam were brothers in all but blood, the two people in Middle-Earth who had gone through so much that would break friendships. But their friendship had strengthened.

"Faramir, what do you remember of the Siege of Gondor? I have always wanted to ask, but have never wanted to offend you." Pippin looked to the Captain of Gondor.

Faramir's brow furrowed in thought. "I was brought in wounded just before it started, and was in a fever for most of it. But I do remember flames. And the Tomb of Kings." His voice quietened. "And I remember my father's death. I could hardly make out what was going on. I could only see him covered in flames as he ran from the Tomb. I was trying to work out if it was a hallucination or not, which it wasn't. His face will haunt me forever."

Pippin nodded. "That was the worst part of the War of the Ring for me. When Denethor tried to burn you alive…I had this feeling of panic, so I found Gandalf. I could not believe Denethor would go to such lengths. The only other part that might have been worse was searching for Merry on the Pelannor fields. It was the feeling of not knowing what had happened; were you alive or dead, or maybe dying, waiting for death; having given up on the thought that someone might find you. I found your Lothlorien cloak and searched into the night. I was lucky I found you."

Merry and Pippin clasped hands in the same was Frodo and Sam had. Merry nodded.

"It was strange, I was in and out of consciousness, wondering if anyone would find me. I could hear you calling, but I couldn't answer. But you did find me, and I couldn't be more grateful. Another vivid memory, for me, was the Witch King. I was looking for Eowyn, and saw her facing the Witch King. She had been kind to me, we were both meant to be in Rohan…he filled me with such fear as I have never felt. So I stabbed."

"And saved me." Eowyn smiled at Merry. "I would probably not be here if not for you. But aside from the actual fight, the reason I was there scared me the most. My uncle died in front of me, crushed beneath his horse because of the Witch King. I will never forget his last words to me, nor how content he seemed with dying. For some reason, he did not mind it; it was his time. I felt like I had failed to save him."

Faramir put a comforting arm around Eowyn's shoulders. "You did not fail."

Pippin was staring into the fire again. "I have said my worst moment of the War, but I think the worst _feeling_ I have had was my ill-fated Palantir looking. The feeling of entrapment, as well as Sauron himself, was unbearable."

"And I watched helpless. That had to have been the worst feeling. There was nothing I could do, no way I could help you."

Frodo, who had been listening closely to his cousins, nodded. "If it's feelings were are talking about, mine must have been in the Tower of Cirith Ungol, when I thought the orcs had taken the Ring. It was an immediate feeling of failure and regret. I thought I had condemned Middle-Earth to darkness."

"I think I felt worst when I thought you were dead, after Shelob. I thought we had come so far, only for you to be slain. Then, I found out you were actually alive, and in the company of the orcs, and that made me feel worse, knowing what they might do to you, and feeling guilty for not having more faith." Sam smiled apologetically.

Eowyn and Faramir watched this conversation, interested in how the four Hobbits interacted with one another.

"They really are amazing, aren't they?"

"Yes, Faramir, they are."

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Lame ending, I know, but my creative streak for this chapter ran out. It could have been something to do with the fact it was about ten to one in the morning…Anyway, I will get to writing the next chapter. Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year to all!

((Reviewers will get Xmas decorations etc if they review (– Ahhh! I'm stooping to bribery!)))

WARNING: All rewards are metaphorical and may cause blindness, headaches and the torment of your soul. Sorry, they come from Mordor!


	12. Dark Dreams and Doubts

Well, a very belated Happy New Year and Merry Christmas. Sorry for the lack of updating (once again) but it's the holidays here in the real Middle-Earth (New Zealand Rocks!) and I've been busy. Here is the 'plot twist/turning point' I've been talking about.

I know I promised decorations, but it's past Xmas, so I'll give chocolate instead! (Chocolate rains on reviewers) There you go!

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Life in the grove continued normally (or as normally as possible) for the next few days. March 25th had come and gone, and the Companions knew they had to look now to the future, and not linger on the past. After all, whereas the past was clear as glass, the future was still cloudy and uncertain.

Faramir had bought up the idea to keep moving. The Companions had stayed for a while, and, although the grove now seemed like home, the idea to move was seriously considered.

After a short debate, the Companions decided to move on. Faramir said they should continue down the Anduin to Lórien. It was Merry that saw the flaw – pointing out Lórien was on the _other_ side of the Anduin – on the Western side. Mirkwood was on the Eastern side. They would need boats.

"What about walking North to the Carrock? We could cross there." It was Sam's suggestion.

"Maybe, but that would take a week, at the minimum. Is there no other place to cross?" Eowyn furrowed her brow in thought, trying to answer her own question.

"There's Osgiliath…" Pippin suggested, but knew it was long shot. Osgiliath was still deserted.

"Too close to Mordor."

"What about the Old Ford, South of the Carrock?" Merry suggested, trying to remember the map he had seen at Rivendell

"Yes, the Old Ford…we could reach that in under a week, cross, then head South to Lórien."

"Then that's probably the best way to go."

Agreed on a route, the Companions gathered the possessions that they carried, donned their armour and weapons, and began to head North.

They walked at a leisurely pace, although it was quick. It was almost as if coming out from the glade had re-awoken old fears and had reminded them of the present situation and danger. They were subconsciously listening for the sound of black wings in the air.

There was no sign of the Wraiths, so the Companions could rest easy that night. The set a watch, all the same.

The next morning was cloudy and cool. The Companions were undisturbed during most of the day, with the exception of a fox and a few rabbits.

A strange feeling had been growing in Frodo's mind most of the day. He knew the Wraiths were airborne, still searching. He couldn't tell how, he just knew.

He felt them before he saw them. In the early afternoon, he was suddenly gripped with a feeling of coldness and pain. He stopped walking, one hand on his shoulder. It was the recognisable pain.

"Wraiths." He murmured through gritted teeth. "Coming this way."

The companions immediately looked for shelter. The edge of Mirkwood was about seventy meters away, so they started to run for it. There was a wraith scream, but it was still a bit for off.

The companions managed to reach the safety of the forest. The Wraith, now visible in the sky, screeched again. It had lost its prey. It turned its airborne steed and darted back towards the southeast.

Slowly, the companions came out of their shelter, Frodo last of all. His warning had not been much, but it had been enough. The cold pain was now gone.

Eowyn was watching in amazement. "How did he…?"

Faramir saved Frodo from explaining. "Eowyn, at the beginning of the last Quest, Frodo was stabbed by the Witch-King on Weathertop. His wound has never fully healed."

Eowyn interrupted. "Where were you stabbed?" she asked Frodo.

Frodo showed Eowyn his scarred shoulder. The scar itself was almost transparent.

Faramir continued. "Whenever a Wraith is near, Frodo feels pain in his shoulder – it seems to act like a beacon. When we were travelling to Rivendell, we were attacked by four Wraiths. Frodo collapsed and spoke in elvish, alerting us to their presence. We drove them off, but not before I had begun to contemplate why it had happened."

Frodo nodded. "The pain seems to increase and decrease with how many there are. Four, the pain was unbearable and I fell to my knees. One, and I could still run. It doesn't last long, just long enough. I would hate to think what could happen if all nine appeared."

The latest Wraith had reminded them fully of what could lie ahead. They continued quickly and quietly, keeping to the shelter of Mirkwood, should they need it.

Night was beginning to fall over Edoras. The four riders had reached it in the early afternoon, as cool wind was sweeping over the plains of Rohan. It was evident that Eomer was pleased to be back in his own land, and evident that the people of Rohan were glad to see him return.

On their arrival to the Golden Hall, Eomer summoned messengers to him and sent them out to gather what ever army he could to assault Mordor once more. Once the messengers were gone, all bearing the summons of war, Eomer called for refreshments for himself and his companions. As they ate, each was trying to estimate the size of the possible army that they could call upon. All except Gandalf, whose thought went Frodo and the others – just like it had so many times in the year passed.

That had been some hours ago. Eomer was holding a council with some of his captains, and Prince Imrahil had left with a fresh horse, trying to get to Dol Amroth as soon as possible. Aragorn and Gandalf were standing outside, looking over the plains of Rohan to the north as they began to fall into darkness.

"You're thinking about Frodo and the others?" Aragorn asked, without turning to his friend.

Gandalf nodded. "I only pray that they are faring well, and have not had any delays or trouble. I also pray that this war is not in vain."

This time, Aragorn did turn to Gandalf. "In what way, Mithrandir?"

"Aragorn, or, should I say King Elessar, have you thought what it is exactly we will do when we reach the Morannon? We will fight Melkor's orcs. But we do not have a Ring that can end, and break, his power. Not this time. This time, we have no purpose but to try and stop him. Yet we will never fight him. Only his army. Many men will die in this attempt. So, I put the question to you, King Elessar. Why do we go to the black gate?"

Aragorn thought about this question for a moment, before replying. "We go to stop history repeating itself. We go to stop Melkor, before he comes to power."

"And if you manage to break through his ranks, and get to the Black Tower? What will you do with him?"

Aragorn's grey eyes clouded with uncertainty. "That I do not know."

Gandalf nodded. "Nor do I. That is what troubles me."

The two were silent, each absorbed in his own thoughts. They stood at the edge of the Golden Hall until the great plains of Rohan had vanished into blackness, lit only slightly by the stars glinting across the sky.

That same night the Companions warily set a watch over their camp. Any sign of danger and the watcher was to rouse the others as quickly as possible. All six of them were on edge after the afternoon attack, and the fear had not subsided.

Frodo could not sleep, for his dreams were haunted with old fears and best-forgotten memories that the Wraiths had rekindled. He had taken an earlier watch, but still lay awake, wrapped in his blanket, staring up at the starry night sky.

After a while he closed his eyes, trying to find an undisturbed restful sleep. A dreamless sleep that would allow him to pass the rest of the night away in peace. His mind was falling into peace when his nightmares started again. But this time, there was no escape. There was pain that seemed so real he could hardly think, shadow that no light could penetrate. He felt as if he were trapped, unable to move.

Frodo's pained scream had woken the rest of the companions. In a few seconds they were around him, trying to work out what was wrong. It didn't take long until the answer was presented. The initial Wraith screech was echoed by at least six more.

The Companions shared a quick glance. They all understood, now. The pain from the presence of _seven_ Wraith must have been overwhelming – enough to make a person pass out. But it was almost as if Frodo was in a deep sleep that he couldn't get out of – he was whispering and tossing, and couldn't seem to hear them.

The others quickly armed themselves for battle, drawing sword and retrieving a few smouldering brands from their weak fire. These they quickly coaxed into torches, then placed around Frodo in a ring. Fire was the best protector they could use.

The Wraiths swooped low, trying to scare their prey. The Companions stayed strong, although it was terrifying – the Wraiths could hardly be seen in the blackness of night, becoming almost invisible until they swooped and tried to attack.

Some had dismounted, coming at them on foot rather than on wings. Faramir and Eowyn dealt with these, while Pippin had un-slung his bow and way trying to shoot some of the Fell Beasts. Merry and Sam were covering him.

As Sam was watching for the Nazgul that would come at them next, an idea occurred to him. A light in dark places – what was darker than night?

He ran back to Frodo, and, reaching through their torch-ring, and found what he was looking for, in a pocket near Frodo's heart – the Phial of Galadriel. Why it had never occurred to him before he did not know. Whispering in elvish, Sam held the Phial up and illuminated their battle.

The Wraiths screeched at the first hint of the light, and baked away. It gave the Companions precious seconds to re-group. Sam still held the Phial, its white light unwavering in strength and continuity.

As Sam held up the Phial and its light grew, it had also reached Frodo. He saw the light in his dreams, and clutched at the chain on his throat. The Evenstar glittered under his fingers and cleared his mind. He awoke, and saw the battle. Drawing Sting, he moved to the others to help.

"Frodo! You're awake!"

"Yes, but what will we do? There are seven of them…and the light will not keep them off for long."

"Force a retreat. It's our only way."

"We actually only have six to deal with – Pip made one turn after a well placed shot in his mount."

Their conversation was cut short as an airborne Wraith dived. It skimmed the ground and made the Companions duck for cover. As it did, though, the Phial was knocked from Sam's hand and it went out. The Wraiths' cover of darkness was returned, as was their advantage.

They swooped as one – in the time that was given by the light those on foot had remounted. The Six Wraiths forced the mortal fighters to the ground. Then, they swooped, almost as a parting gesture, and left, hading southeast.

But Sam did not get up to retrieve the Phial. Neither did Merry. No one moved. For the Wraiths had played their last card, used their last weapon. Swooping together, all six had used the Black Breath, and had caused the Companions to sink into the dark dreams of unconsciousness.

After walking through black dreams of death and despair for what seemed like days, Sam felt light, and life, coming back to him. Slowly opening his eyes he found he was not alone – his other Companions were with him, lying still, but breathing; their minds filled with dark thoughts and visions.

Reaching out to Merry, who was closest to him, Sam shook him by the shoulder. Merry, in his dreams, felt Sam's hand and heard Sam's voice, telling him to wake, and to come back. The dreams of despair seemed to fade, and he woke to find Sam next to him.

"What happened?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't answer you."

The two Hobbits woke their other companions. Everyone was still a bit disorientated and confused from the Black Breath, when they got a fire going again, Faramir remembered a parting gift for Aragorn – Athelas, though both rangers had prayed there wouldn't be need for the remedial plant.

Their minds and hearts were cleared of darkness and confusion when the sweet smell of Athelas came from the leaves. All except Sam, it seemed. He didn't speak, nor make much movement. As soon as the Companions saw him, they all knew the same thing.

It had been right in front of them, but the Black Breath had stopped anyone from seeing it as a reality. Now it had been realised, there was nothing they could do. No one spoke. Pippin had his head in his hands. Sam just stared, into the newly rekindled fire.

There was nothing to be done. They had come through to much. And for nothing. Sam stood and walked away from the camp, stopping at a large rock about fifty meters away from the fire.

It was now, out of sight, that Sam's mask gave way and his tears flowed freely. He had promised to follow him, follow him to wherever. Now, he was gone. Sam turned to look in the direction of Mordor, and silently cursed the Nazgul, and their winged steeds.

He was just one Hobbit. What could he do, but grieve? Mourn the loss of his dearest friend, his best friend, his brother.

He would never see Frodo again.

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Oh no! Frodo's been taken! I feel sorry for Sam.


	13. The Dark Truth

Hello, lovely readers! No, I didn't forget about this story. Yes, I haven't had any time. No, I'M NOT DEAD. There. That's out of the way. Sincere apologies for the major major major delay! Tawa has been constantly reminding me, and I thank her for it. In the morning, afternoon – even between classes at school.

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"I'm not giving up on him."

It was a cool morning, and the remaining Companions were trying to decide what to do, although no one really wanted to bring up what had happened the night before. It was clear that certain things were beyond them, yet Sam refused to give up. His statement came as no surprise.

"Sam, what can we do? We can't get there, and even if we could, how could we get him out?"

Sam ignored Eowyn's reasonable reply. "I said I would follow him, and I will. If he's gone to Barad-Dur, then I'm going to get him, or die trying. And I know I probably will, but that's not going to stop me."

"Sam, be reasonable! Would you willingly walk into death, into Mordor, when there is no hope of rescuing Frodo? I hate to say it, but it is the truth."

"There is always hope. I can still see it, although you might not, or maybe you refuse to, unwilling to put yourself in danger, now the matter is apparently out of our hands. I thought you were a man of quality." He said it with quiet rage, and the words cut Faramir like a blade. He flinched as the words hit home, knowing now that Sam would not listen to any council, but would go where his heart took him – into Mordor, once again.

Sam saw Faramir flinch, and knew he had acted irrationally. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said quietly, "but I can't give up, just like that. I know we are too far away from Mordor, and I know even if we could get there, we would all be caught or be killed, but I still refuse to believe that there is absolutely nothing we can do."

"We could head down to the Black Gate, where the armies are meeting. We would be back in contact with King Elessar and Gandalf, who are the most likely to help. They are going to fight Melkor's armies – maybe we could get to Barad-Dur in the middle of the chaos that battle brings. It would be a chance," Eowyn said, her eyes watching the reactions of her companions' faces. There were general nods of agreement. It seemed the best plan, to reunite with their friends who were already marching to the Black Gate.

"And if we can't?" asked Merry, who, with Pippin, had been silent during the discussion.

Silence greeted his words. No one wanted to think about the possibility. They had to keep hope. Even if it was only the one slim chance.

Clearing their camp, or what was left of it, the Companions resumed their southward trek. No one spoke for a while – although Eowyn and Faramir did take a whispered council while walking, at one point.

"Faramir, is this in vain?"

"I know not, best beloved. The only thought in my mind, which seems to be the clearest, is to take further council with Aragorn and Mithrandir. They will be at the Black Gate, so we travel there."

The two walked on in silence, before Eowyn spoke again. "I'm worried that the Hobbits will do something irrational. Try to get to Barad-Dur before we sort out a plan, that sort of thing. They all love Frodo dearly, and would to anything to get to him. I only pray they realise this is a delicate situation."

Faramir smiled grimly, more to himself than to the Shieldmaiden walking beside him. "I believe that would be the first thought to come to their minds – but the seriousness has also had effect. Do not forget, Eowyn, that they have seen this before. They are not as fool-hardy as they once were…" he paused, suddenly deep in memory, "…as we all once were."

Eowyn nodded. It was true, of course.

In front of them, Merry and Pippin walked together, silent. Each knew the other well enough to recognise that silence was needed – time to reflect, to contemplate, and to lament.

Frodo had always been more serious than the two of them – he was, of course, their elder. Their trusted, compassionate, wise friend, and beloved cousin.

Pippin was still trying to make sense of it all. It was like he was numb – the full realisation hadn't sunk in yet, almost as if he subconsciously refused to believe it, but his heart knew it was true.

Merry was thinking of his earliest memories of Frodo at Brandy Hall. There had been no shadow, no Ring, no Enemy then. The days just came and went, spent reading, playing, not caring about tomorrow very much. He missed those days of simplicity.

Behind them, and Eowyn and Faramir, Sam walked alone, deep in memory, thought and pain, as he re-lived some of his terrible experiences from Mordor. He tried not to think of what might be happening to Frodo, and wished for a horse, to cover more ground.

His feeling of helplessness aggravated him most. Mordor was so far away, so many long days of walking, so many miles. Would there be time to reach him before the unthinkable?

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It was darker than the deepest places of the Void. He couldn't see. Couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Paralysed by the shadows, his only company were fleeting whispers, taunting, chilling – almost lost from hearing, stifled by the darkness.

Memories began to flicker before his eyes. Evil memories, visions from the past. The weight of the Ring was returned, as was the torment to his soul. The darkness continued to taunt and mock him, chilling him to the bone.

_((It's such a weight to carry, isn't it? Wouldn't it be better to just lie down and die?))_

((You knew your weren't strong enough. They all knew. Knew you would fail. Expected you to die. Expected Sauron to win.))

Scenes flashed before his eyes, as if illuminated by unseen lightning. Indistinct corpses, horribly mutilated and tortured, people who had been driven to the edge of life, and sanity, and hope, before their slow and painful death.

They became clearer. He backed away from the bodies of the fellowship…his friends…his family…

All had been tortured before their death. Burn marks and bruises covered the bodies. And then there was the blood. Each had been killed with one stab or slash – wounds that never killed outright, but allowed the body to lie, sometimes for hours at a time, still alive.

Another bolt of lightning lit the picture. There was someone behind them…holding a bloodied sword, a golden ring shining on the left hand. The figure began to move, walk towards him. He backed away.

((You claimed it.))

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the figure – himself. Wearing black armour and holding a naked sword covered in the crimson glow of blood, the mirror image smirked and held up his left hand. The ring glowed, the gold band almost like fire. The image smirked again, and vanished.

The voices began to laugh. Sauron, in his full power, wearing the Ring, was suddenly before him. The Witch King stood to Sauron's right, and Shelob to his left. They surrounded him. Death on all sides.

((Won't you join us, little Lord? Help us to slay the innocent? You have nothing else.))

Frodo opened his eyes. The images vanished, but were replaced with stonewalls and bars. A prison cell.

The darkness of the nightmare lingered, as did the cold feeling of death and failure. He may have escaped Barad-Dur once, but no longer. There was no way out: he was sure he would die here. But under what circumstances?

Moving slowly to one corner, and drawing his knees up under his chin, Frodo reflected on what had happened. He had been caught by the wraiths. He was not dead. But for how much longer? How much longer did he – no, not he, how much longer did _Middle-Earth_ have? How much time, before the world was pushed into darkness because one Hobbit stupidly got himself caught.

It was all his fault. If he had just…had just… had just what? There was no answer he could think of. If he just wasn't a fool, maybe this would have been averted. If he wasn't so weak, wasn't such a failure. The memory of Mount Doom was at the top of his mind, like some re-opened wound of a memory, hurting him, punishing him, reminding him.

There was nothing that could be done. He would have to bear the darkness.

Amidst his personal shadows that lingered in mind and memory, Frodo thought of Sam, of Merry, of Pippin. His three dearest friends in the world. He wept to think he would never see them again. No. This cell would be the last thing he saw. He would never see Aragorn, or the White City, or the Tree of the King. Never see Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli…the Fellowship. Or Eowyn and Faramir, who had become trusted and valued friends of him in the past weeks.

Bitter tears feel as he thought of them – of what he would do to them. Of what would happen. There was no stopping it. Hope was gone, smothered by shadow and doubt.

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Sorry it's such a short chapter. I'm suffering form a slight writers block. I know where this is going, but not how to get there! Anyway, please make my day brighter and review!


	14. The First Confrontation

Contrary to popular belief, I am not dead. And I know, it's been oh, about SIX MONTHS (if not more) since I last updated, but recently this story kinda floated back into the mushy thing I call a brain. So I wrote some more to calm that annoying thing called my conscience.

And on getting back to what's with the world thing? I'm not sure what this story comes under, seeing as it has elements from both book and movie, but isn't really an AU. Argh! If anyone can give pointers about where this should go, advice would be readily accepted with a smile. I'll stick it in ALTERNATE for now.

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Slipping out of the dark and dreamless sleep he could not remember falling into, Frodo opened his eyes and sat up, casting his eyes around the cell in the wild hope something would have happened. Nothing, however, had changed. Leaning back against one of the cold walls, Frodo sat numbly, thinking about…everything.

Dark memories, long suppressed, now rose up unbidden, from the depths of Frodo's memory. Nothing could be worse, not Shelob, not Sauron. Closing his eyes, Frodo re-lived some of the previous quest in his mind. Running headlong into the unknown, into Shelob's Lair, into almost certain death, blindly. Looking back, how could he have been so stupid, so sightless?

There was no time for self blame now, however. Frodo did not know how long he had alone, before his life's end would approach him in black armour. His thoughts turned instead to a happier memory; Aragorn's coronation. Minas Tirith. How happy that time had been! It was almost impossible to think that, for a fleeting moment, his personal darkness had stopped, kept at bay by the thought of peace.

Footsteps were approaching his cell. Frodo scrambled to his feet, wondering with a disillusioned heart who – or what – could be coming. In the moment before the door opened, however, Frodo suddenly realised he no longer cared who, or what, it was.

It was an orc. Dressed in scraps of black leather and chain mail, Frodo noticed no device or emblem – just plain black, the trademark red of the Eye of Sauron missing. The orc gave a twisted smile when it saw Frodo standing opposite. Inclining its head in a mocking bow, the Orc slowly, and roughly, spoke.

"My Lord is coming to see you. I would be ready."

He gave another twisted smile and rambled out of the door, shutting (and locking, Frodo heard) it behind him. Silence fell once more, as the orc's footsteps faded.

_My Lord?_ Melkor. Inescapable fear crept up on Frodo, as he sank back down to the floor and put his head in his hands. The Lord of Darkness? More powerful than Sauron himself…he couldn't bear to think what would happen. It was going to happen now…he was going to die…Middle-Earth would fall…it was all his fault.

For a moment Frodo though he would vomit, but the feeling passed. Instead, a feeling of numbness descended onto him and he felt like he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't feel. The effect…the sense…of the terror was unexplainable. Frodo thought he had known true fear, but nothing he could think of could compare. Sauron, the Nazgul, Shelob … they had all been earthly, had been _tame_ compared to Melkor. He was a _god_. The Disgraced Valar, whose power, however suppressed in the void, was still present, still malicious, still all too real.

Frodo did not want to think ahead, think ahead to his meeting – his confrontation – with this fallen, yet divine being. Would he die in an instant? That was the likeiest course of events. Would he be tortured? Left an inch from death in a world of cold, black pain? Why was Melkor coming to see him? If anything, Frodo had been expecting to be taken _to _him. He was a Lord, after all. And a god.

What would become of him? Left alone to fall into the grip of despair? Broken beyond recognition? Broken in body, and not mind. Or in mind and not body? No matter what was going to happen, Frodo knew one thing – before the end of the day he would wish for death.

There was a call from the corridor. Footsteps echoing off the stonewalls. The scratching sound of orc-feet… and the harsh echo of metal boots, whisper of a cloak. _He_ was coming.

As the sounds drew closer, Frodo reached up to his neck and gripped the Evenstar, still there and hidden beneath his clothes. The cool metal and gemstones gave him a wavering confidence, a courage dampened by the stonewalls and impending darkness. Still, it was something. Suddenly Frodo saw his current position with clarity. He would not survive this. He would die, Middle-Earth fall to ruin. For some reason, this revelation, not matter how depressing or unfortunate, gave him strength, steeled his heart. He stood.

His visitor was now outside the door. There was the jangling of keys and the sound of the lock opening. The door swung open.

Melkor swept in, alone. Taller than Aragorn, and more muscular, he created an imposing figure. His hair, longish and wavy, was black, and his skin as pale as a corpse. His eyes were completely black, no white at all – giving the impression of deep pools of nothing, never ending and tormenting. Although Frodo knew the truth of his being a deity, and therefore being tens of thousands of years old, the body he had looked young – a man only ten or fifteen years past his coming-of-age. He wore the same black spiked armour as Sauron had, but his head was bare, with no crown nor helmet. A black velvet cloak swung around his shoulders.

His eyes – or what were in the place of eyes – swept around the cell and alighted on Frodo. His mouth became a cruel smile as he stared Frodo down. Frodo was forced to look away, look down in submission.

"My _greetings_ to you, Halfling." His first words made Frodo flinch. That voice – there was nothing human about it at all. It was cold, sharp, and painful. Every word cut through Frodo like a spike, carving the meaning onto his soul, yet his face remained expressionless. He stayed silent, staring at the floor.

"You will speak when spoken to. I will let it pass this time. Next time you will die. I trust you appreciate your accommodation. You should, as it will be the last thing you see. On to further matters. I trust you know why you are here. But do you know the full story?"

"Why are you here?" The words slipped from Frodo in a whisper. He had not meant to question Melkor, he would not _dare_… but Melkor seemed pleased.

"You question me? Such spirit. It will be fun to break. You wish to know why I am here? The answer should be obvious. To finish what I begun, when Middle-Earth was only just created."

"My apologies, _my lord_. How are you here?" Frodo kept his voice low, words expressionless. He couldn't let his fear show. He was terrified inside, but he had to ignore it if he was to maybe, just maybe survive this initial encounter. But after all, hadn't the Gods of Middle-Earth, the Valar, banished Melkor to the Void in chains? He was their prisoner, was he not – or at least used to be. How was he here, standing before Frodo?

Melkor's abnormal smile appeared again. "Ah, a much more specific question. You know then, a little of the Valar? And how I am the Fallen One? As you wish, Halfling, I will tell you how I am here today, and not still trapped in the Void as I know my _dearest_ brother, Manwë, would like me to be." Melkor's voice was like ice, chilling Frodo to the bone, dripping with malice and cruelty, especially when he mentioned Manwë.

"My trusted servant, Sauron, was never actually destroyed. You know the story of his destruction, and were a key player, were you not? Sauron himself was only made weak beyond all comparison; weak so he could never take form again. He was never actually _destroyed_. His weakness made him be forgotten, lost into legend and story. After all, how could he pose anymore threat?"

Frodo slowly lifted his gaze from the floor. He now watched Melkor properly, listening. Melkor stared back.

"Do I sense a hint of confidence?" The black smile appeared again. "No matter. Sauron fled to Utumno, my long deserted fortress."

"It was your first fortress." Frodo hissed the words, his eyes never leaving Melkor's face.

Melkor smirked, his smile deepening. "Ah, the Halfling _does_ know his history. Yes, it was my first fortress, where I suffered defeat at the hands of the Valar." He paused, then continues with bitterness in his voice. "I was taken back to Valinor, chained and blindfolded. Yet my fortress remained. I performed a lot of Dark magics and created my own races there: Balrogs are once such example. But this you know.

"Remaining there, deep under the earth, was a pool of Dark magic I had left behind. I had forgotten about it – and fortunately magic tends to be like the most potent of wines. The longer you leave it, the more it ferments, mutates, and then spoils; the same is with magic. It had been left for so long, it was more powerful than it had been, although it was possible that the magic could have spoiled and therefore lost its power. Sauron, weak as he was, performed a summoning, with the aid of this magic. I was awoken from the Void. I was weak myself, but nowhere near as weak as my faithful servant. I drew the leftover magic from the pool – you must have strength enough to do it, hence why Sauron could not – and became a shadow of my former self. I took the form of a man, and started to regain my power.

"After I had gathered enough power, I rewarded my Lieutenant for freeing me – I gave him strength and power, and made him the Witch-King, as he had informed me of the demise of the first. The other Nazgul were bought back, with Sauron as their leader. He informed me of the Ring and other events, and he informed me of _you_. You, the Ringbearer who had taken the Ring to Orodruin, the one who had thwarted him. This idea of a ring intrigued me. Sauron explained how it was made, and I came upon the idea of how to make it more powerful. A blood sacrifice would enhance the power. But who?"

"Me." The word echoed around the stone walls. _Me … me … me_

Melkor laughed bitterly, enjoying Frodo's discomfort. "Yes, we came to that decision. How could we not? Who knows what it was that allowed you to carry the Ring so far – when I knew about its ability to corrupt, to torment, to drive even the strongest to darkness and despair. You were a threat, Halfling, a threat and an apparent strong-willed one at that. Yet also an interest. There is also the thought of the Rings' effect on you – you may not know it, but the Ring tainted you, making you all the more perfect for a sacrifice. You know that. You can still feel it sometimes, the darkness drawing you in. You know you will never be free of it."

Frodo's gaze on Melkor's face began to waver. Melkor laughed, watching. "There, it surfaces. The scars left on your soul, the darkest memories imprinted on your mind. You will never be the same. Tormented, wounded, and fatigued. But still, you are _alive_." He paused. "For now."

Melkor smiled that dark, twisted smile once more.

"One final thought– unfortunately, your blood must be given willingly for this to work. Do not think you can just refuse – there is more than one way of making you give it willingly. I hope I have given you something to contemplate. _Farewell_."

Melkor's voice had a hint of sarcasm hidden within it, and he seemed to enjoy watching Frodo for a reaction as he spoke these words, before he turned and swept out of the dungeon. The door swung shut behind him.

Frodo sank to the floor shaking. The confrontation that had just happened seemed like a nightmare, a nightmare that will plague and torment for as long as one is asleep and awake. He had expected Melkor to kill him instantaneously. But this would be much worse – Melkor obviously knew that too, that was why he was letting Frodo live.

He did, however, have one chance – after all, it would be a while until he gave his blood freely, condemning Middle-Earth to Melkor's wrath and darkness. But what had Melkor meant – there were other ways of making him obey. Frodo shuddered to think about what that could mean. He would have to steel himself against whatever Melkor tried to do, try to prolong his submission to the forces of Darkness.

Melkor had not mentioned anything about when Frodo would be bought before him. It could be in the next ten minutes, of the next ten days. Melkor would draw everything out; give Frodo as much suffering as he could. Alone, with nothing but thoughts and memories was torture enough. But not knowing the time, whether it was day or night, how long it would be before he was put to the test made it a living hell.

He would have to try and bear it. He suddenly found his meeting with Melkor had left him exhausted – but could not say why. Slowly, Frodo felt himself slipping into the waiting darkness of sleep and nightmare…

He saw Aragorn, sleeping on the throne of Gondor with a Nazgul behind him – he tried to cry out a warning but couldn't – then his vision was obscured by an Oliphaunt, with Sam riding atop it in armour… Sam wouldn't speak to him. Then the Fellowship lay dead, the only other colour against the red of blood was a tiny glint of gold…

The image faded, but the gold remained. He tried to pick it up, but his hand went through it, as a shadow appeared behind him – a shadow with eight legs. He tried to turn, to face Shelob, but she hid in the darkness. The phial was gone. So was the Evenstar. Then Melkor was above him, holding a naked sword, wreathed in flame…

Frodo woke, sweating. He could no longer sleep. He lay on the floor of the cell and thought about his current situation, his life, his quest and his friends.

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Well, hope that doesn't disappoint. (Bet it will… such a let-down after so long!) Anyway, I'm really hoping that this hasn't been sent into random cyberspace! If you review, I will know I have been found by after being parted for so long…


	15. Familiar Faces

Hello. I've been busy. Very busy. My sister got married (I was the Chief Bridesmaid! Yay!), and I've re-stared school (final year of high school...and I'm a Drama Prefect! Wahoo! Power!), and then I was involved in a Shakespeare competition (my school did a piece of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, and I was Helena. We didn't get to the finals, but I got an acting award! Go me!), I've auditioned for a Shakespeare production (_Midsummer's_, coincidentally. I didn't get it, unfortunately. But I might be working backstage. That's almost as good.), and, at current, I'm in rehearsal for an inter-school dance and drama competition called Stage Challenge. Then there is work, and social life (slightly non-existent), and homework and assignments. My life is busy!

Oh, and Happy Easter to all who celebrate it.

I had a dream last night, with LOTR characters in it. I think it was a sign for me to get my ass in order and continue this story. So, I decided to. If you're reading this, I have inexpressible thanks for you for sticking with me. So, without further ado…

Disclaimer: Let me check…nope, I lost the game to some guy called Tolkien.

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Sam was woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to take the last watch? I can do it…" Faramir tried to read into the hobbit's expression, but couldn't. Sam had blocked out almost everything since the night Frodo was taken – over the past few days he had been quiet and cynical in speech and mood. Nothing had been done by the other companions that had helped Sam out of it, but then again, all had been subdued by what had happened. Merry and Pippin were also quiet, speaking mostly to each other if at all.

"No. I will do it." Sam didn't meet Faramir's gaze, simply stood and walked over to a rock to sit. Faramir watched him go, and shook his head slowly at Sam's back. Sam turned and spoke over his shoulder. "Get some sleep. I will be fine." He drew his sword and put it across his knees, the bare blade glimmering slightly in the starlight.

Faramir knew there was nothing he could do in aid to help Sam, who had become a steel-hearted warrior overnight. "As you wish, master Samwise," he said quietly as he walked softly over to Eowyn, who half-woke and sleepily reached out an arm for him.

From his position on the rock, Sam watched Faramir settle next to Eowyn and close his eyes. Seeing the two of them next to each other suddenly, and painfully, reminded him of what he left behind, again. Rosie was very accommodating about what her husband and his friends had been through – she knew all their tales and experiences, from the darkness of Mordor to the reality of battle.

And here Sam was, he had left her behind – again. He had been swept up in another adventure, and had, once again, been involved in more than he thought he would. She was waiting patiently for him to return – but would he? After escaping near death the last time, would fate be that kind to him again?

Would fate be that kind again to _anyone_? Those involved in this complication of life had all escaped with their lives before, against the odds. All had come close, yes – and some more than others – but maybe one more chance was all they were going to get. Could this be the final adventure?

"Hopes fail. An end comes. We have only a little time to wait now. We are lost in ruin and downfall, and there is no escape…"

The words came unbidden to Sam's mind, clear as daylight. Frodo has said that to him. When…when they were on Mt. Doom, after the Ring was gone. Sam let his mind drift back to it. The heat. The volcano…

And it had been peaceful. Strange, the realization of how peaceful it really was had only just occurred to him. The freedom from the burden, the loss of control over their destinies and, over all, the ability to be themselves, now released from the ring's influence. There was nothing that could be done, and both knew it, so they had walked until they could go now further, and knew death would come. They were prepared for it.

But death hadn't come. Life had come, borne on Gwaihir's wings, and they were saved. Although he wanted to believe it, Sam doubted in his heart that they would be that lucky a second time. Indeed, Frodo could be dead already. Dead in mind, or spirit, or body.

Sam was sure this wasn't true. Not because he was hoping for the best – he just knew. When Frodo died at the hands of Melkor, something would happen. The world would shake, the sky would storm…or something. But aside from this probability, Sam felt as though he could still feel his Master. He just _knew_.

Sam prayed quietly to whoever was listening that if Frodo had to die, it would be merciful and quick. That was the best way. Sam, sitting and thinking, knew he had no idea what was happening in the tower. If only he could get there somehow…or get there faster. They were still days – weeks, even – from anywhere near the Black Gate.

"You have let your guard down, Master Gamgee," said a familiar voice from the shadows. Sam sprung up; sword raised, but then calmed and let his face relax into a smile when he saw the speaker.

"Legolas! What are you doing here?"

Legolas smiled as he came to sit next to the hobbit. "Leading the Mirkwood Army to the Black Gate. We were taking the night to travel, to cover more ground – our footmen are a day behind us, but we are the cavalry. I saw your firelight and came to investigate."

"Tell me, Master Elf, how long have you been waiting in the shadows?"

"Not long at all. When I saw whom we had chanced upon, I came forward. How goes it with you and your companions?"

Sam began to speak, but stopped. How could he phrase it, without saying it directly? "We are one short."

Legolas's brow furrowed in concern. "Dead?"

"We do not know. He has been gone for a few days now…he was taken in the hours of darkness, during a fight. We did not know until the following morning."

Legolas still did not know who exactly had been taken, but glancing back over Sam, he saw there were only four figures asleep – two human, two hobbit. Which one?

Sam glanced up at Legolas, tears in his eyes. "It was Frodo, Legolas. The Black Riders took him to the Dark Tower. We do not know what has happened. We fear the worst."

Legolas stood quickly, softly hissing in the elvish tongue to an associate in the shadows. The elf moved into the grey light of dawn and had a short but rapid conversation with Legolas, before nodding and vanishing back into the trees.

Legolas looked down at Sam, who stood also. "Time is now against us. We must get to Aragorn and Gandalf before anything can come of this. You must wake your companions – I will fetch horses. I will ride with you; we will leave as soon as we can. Speed is our greatest objective now." He turned and vanished into the trees after the other elf.

Sheathing his sword, Sam walked back to the sleepers and woke Merry and Pippin first. The two younger hobbits both looked at him enquiringly, before Sam simply stated, "Legolas has found us.". At this, both sprang us with disbelief on their faces.

"Legolas?"

Sam nodded, and walked over to Eowyn and Faramir. The humans were a little more cautious. "The Elvin Prince of Mirkwood? His army is here?" Faramir asked.

Sam nodded. "The riders are at least. Those on foot are a day behind. He says will lend us horses so we can cover more ground."

"I will also come with you," said Legolas, reappearing from the trees with a horse. Two more elves, with two more horses, followed. "Together we can reach Aragorn in a few days, if we are prepared to keep going and rest little."

Faramir hastily bowed to the elf, but Legolas waved his hand. "This is not the time for formalities, Captain. We must go as soon as you are able."

It took next to no time to clear the camp. Belongings were packed, the fire was put out, and a light meal was taken. Then the horses were spurred by their respective riders, and galloped away south.

"All we have to do is keep the Anduin to our right. If we follow it, we will end up at the Emyn Muil and then we can strike southeast for the battle plain of Dagorlad. That is where the armies of Gondor and Rohan are marshalling," Legolas called above the rushing wind.

The miles and days drew quickly by. The horses were somewhat amazing – they ran fast and tired little, but each night the six companions stopped to rest themselves as well as their mounts.

The sharp rocks of Emyn Muil were a welcome landmark. An hour or so later, a Gondorian banner, alongside the white horse of Rohan and the swan of Dol Amroth, could be seen in the distance waving in the wind. A horse rode out from by the banners towards them, and was upon them before long.

The rider slowed his mount and saluted to them. "Who goes there?"

"Prince Legolas, Faramir; Prince of Ithilien and the Lady Eowyn. With us are some Periannath – Masters Samwise, Meriadoc and Peregrin. We request an audience with Lord Elessar immediately." Legolas had the distinctive air of someone who had done this before.

There was no need for any explanation, for as soon as Legolas mentioned their names, the sentry bent into a bow atop his horse. After all, Faramir and Eowyn, at the very least, were well known around the court.

"Of course, My Lords and Lady. Come, I will announce you."

Together, the four horses rode across the plain to the encampment beyond. The rider called to his fellows, who relaxed their guard on the perimeter, and parted to let the horses through.

Upon approaching the king's pavilion, the rider dropped from his horse and entered. The companions took their time getting down off their own horses, as none was sure what would happen in the audience with Aragorn.

Aragon looked up from his discussion with Gandalf as the sentry entered, hastily sinking into a bow before his king.

Aragorn motioned him up. "Speak."

"My Lord, Prince Legolas is here with some companions. They wish an immediate audience with you."

Surely the elves weren't here already? All the better if they were. Hiding his delight at the chance to see another familiar face, Aragorn nodded. "Send them in. and see that no one disturbs us, unless on an errand of utmost importance."

The sentry made a quick bow before leaving. Aragorn turned to Gandalf. "You think the elves of Mirkwood have arrived?"

"I am not sure. There is something wrong, Sire."

"Do you think? What could be wrong…?"

"My Lord Aragorn. So good to see you again," said Legolas, as he entered.

Aragorn stood and embraced the elf. "Legolas. You bless us with your presence so soon?"

"I am not here with the army, Sire." There was something in Legolas's eyes that worried – and frightened – the king.

Aragorn's brow furrowed. "But my scout said you had companions."

"And so I do. But not elves."

"No?"

"No, I met up with some of our _original_ companions."

"You mean…"

"I do. But all is not well. I have come to inform you of complications that have arisen."

So Gandalf had been right. _All is not well_. Aragorn braced himself for the worst as Legolas began his story. By the end of it, he was numb. Gandalf took charge of the situation, seeing as the king was in no state to.

"Beregond!"

Beregond entered with a hurried bow.

"Beregond, outside you will find Prince Faramir, Lady Eowyn and three of the Periannath. Hand them over to the quartermaster – see he finds them pavilions and supplies. Then leave them to their own devices; they are allowed to come and go from the king's pavilion as it please them."

With another hurried bow, Beregond withdrew. Legolas stood, and left Aragorn and Gandalf alone. Silence descended.

"Can it be true?" Aragorn whispered in dispair. "He is gone. We are doomed."

Gandalf had to stand for a moment before collecting his thoughts and choosing his words carefully. "My heart is breaking too, sire. But no move has been yet made by the enemy. There is still time."

"But how much?" Aragorn stood and began to pace. "How much time before he becomes immortal? Before darkness descends with no hope. It is over."

Gandalf moved and stood in front of Aragorn, blocking his pacing. "There is still hope. It is a blood sacrifice, Aragorn. Think. A sacrifice of this sort must be…" Gandalf trailed off, looking Aragorn in the eye.

Aragorn met Gandalf's gaze steadily. "…Given willingly. You do not think he would?"

"Aragorn, you have travelled with Hobbits, as have I. You know about their stubbornness. And the Baggins family is worst than most when it comes to stubbornness. He may buy us time – but we must use it wisely."

Aragon nodded slowly as he sat back down on his throne. There was distinct hesitation when he spoke again. "Gandalf…what do you think is happening to him?"

"I do not know. Nor, do I think I want to. He suffered during the last quest, but I think that suffering would feel like heaven compared to what the Black Tower is like. I only pray he can give us the time we need."

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So, here we go, finally and at last. A new chapter.

Oh, and by the way, if you haven't already noticed – I have removed all replies to reviews after some of my other fics were taken off because of them. Individual replies, unbeknownst to me, count as chat. I didn't realise, so if anyone sees me breaking a guideline or rule, please alert me so I can fix it!

My thanks to all reviewers who have put up with me and my stupid updates, or lack of them!


	16. Important Author Note:

Hello; all my wonderful readers!

It's been a while, hasn't it? Years, in fact. I can't say what happened… I got writer's block and never come back to this. It's no excuse, I know. And it's been at the back of my mind ever since, that this story was unfinished, and that I owed it not only to you as the reader, but the fandom I love, to finish it.

A few nights back, I watched all three LotR movies (extended editions). And more and more I found myself thinking of my story, this story, that I'd written so long ago, now…and now my study is over for the year, I'm determined to finish it.

So I went back to the start. I re-edited all the published chapters, I tweaked bits here and there – those who have read this story in the past (if any of you are left!); nothing changed plot-wise, so while I encourage you to go back and re-read, it isn't necessary (expect if you wish to refresh your memory). And finally, I decided to change the title after all the revised chapters were up (which had never sat well with me, really).

But as I did, I kept wondering if I should replace these chapters, or make an entirely new story. The revisions have expanded the chapters not in plot but in detail, and it feels more like a story to me now. So I've decided to make an entirely new story entry for it.

Once it's all up, _Ring Of Blood_ will be deleted, but I'll never forget the support you all gave me during the initial writing, your advice and compliments. I just hope you can do the same for me on the new story – same plot, but revised writing.

If, Valar forbid, you've been here since the beginning, and want to know the ending – look out for _Just One Drop_. It's the new version. I'm going to go upload the first few chapters now, and get writing again.

May the grace of the Valar protect you!

Pharaohess


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